Yours Truly 2032
by Dartz-IRL
Summary: Megatokyo was Huge. Glass, steel, concrete and tarmac, flickering neon lights and cold blue streetlamps; it was the apotheosis of urbanisation, a technological God among cities. A Bubblegum Crisis SI, in the traditional Form.
1. Caught Somewhere in Time

_Yours Truly, 2032_

Yet another BubbleGum Crisis SI.

A few quick edits and typo-nukings… yes, the original version was *worse* than this even. Fixed formatting, cleaned up a few things and general wiped the dirt off. Next few episodes will get the same treatment soon… it's badly needed.

Anyway, time to Rock and Roll...

Bubblegum Crisis...(c) Artmic/Youmix.

I'm just borrowing this for a while, for some Fair Deal fun.

Mmmkay?

1: _Caught Somewhere in Time_

-**I...I**

I gave up on being somebody special a long time ago. I think it was when I was 15, watching Treasure Planet, that I first realised that I'd never be a starship captain, a sky-sailor, the pilot of some mecha, or a criminal. I watched some animated kid, otherwise the same age as me, living more in an hour and a half of film, than i was sure I would in my entire life.

And I accepted that.

I'd turn into just another sheep in the herd. I'd finish school, go to college. I'd get a job, get a wife. I'd have kids and in 20-odd years time I'd look into a mirror and see my father staring back at me, and wonder where the fuck those twenty years had gone. And the hell of it was, I sort of accepted it.

Because mediocrity was safe. Mediocrity wouldn't get me shot by a Garda, or some gangster with a bullet for a brain. Mediocrity wouldn't have me in prison, or on the front page spread of a newspaper. I was happy with that, because being anything other than mediocre began to seem like too much hard work to be worth it. I staffed conventions, but never sat on a committee... I'd seen some of the politicking going on behind and decided I just didn't want to get involved in that.

If you met me, I never looked like anyone special. Tall-ish... unfit-ish... a little bit more booksmart than average, but not socially smart. I could run if I had to, but I tried not to. I never really bothered getting into fights, except when drinking. I had a beard which I always liked. It differentiated me from my father. Not that I hated him mind... I just didn't like being told I was like him. He was Fifty, I was twenty-odd at the time and there was something oddly horrifying about old-age. I was an engineering student... but nothing special. I liked technology. I liked ripping things apart and figuring out how they worked. I could code, but nothing in anyway complex, just a few basic functions.

Sure, as the next few years since that film rolled over I faced hardships, but nothing outright serious. I repeated a year in college because I failed some exams, was slowly managing to grind through my final year and was steadily finding myself feeling like I was perched on a giant expanding bubblegum bubble of work. But compared to the problems other people had mine weren't anything but...mediocre. I didn't have many 'high points' but I was never sure if that wasn't because most of my life was what some people would consider a high point. It just felt... dull. It wasn't anything I could complain about, because I knew there were people worse off than me though it still never seemed right.

But I was *content* with that even if I wasn't sure how happy I truly was. The other options on the nightly news seemed worse than just carrying on the same as everyone else did. It still left a bit of a hole that needed to be filled.

Animé, and a K100 BMW motorcycle seemed to do just fine

The thing with animé…and to a lesser extent fanfiction…was that it allowed me to experience the thrills and spills of an 'interesting' life, without the actual risk. It was a vicarious fulfilment, but a fulfilment nonetheless. We could all picture ourselves as Shinji in Unit 01, or Kyon frustrated with Haruhi...

Oh, and the K100? It's not a car. BMW don't only produce 4-wheeled vehicles. Instead of picking up a license to drive, I had a provisional license to ride. And a 1000cc 4-cylinder bike with a blue touring fairing. It was older than I was, probably putting out about 70-80 bhp, and had been nicknamed 'Exxon Valdez' thanks to a tanker-like approach to accelerating, taking corners, and a tendency to leak oil when left standing. It was a little more than I was allowed by the law, to tell the truth, but the old thing was so heavy anyway no Garda gave a damn. And it was fun to ride.

But how exactly was this relevant?

Well, I'm pretty sure it was my 'unique' combination of skills and interests that first attracted whatever infernal attention kicked this whole shebang off. It was the BMW itself, and the contents of its panniers one November night that finally sealed the deal with 'them'.

And so setting off from university for the last time that week... I stuffed my laptop in one pannier, and some BGC DvD's. The Animé and Manga Society at my college had been holding a Classic Animé night, and I'd snarflled the lot. It had been months since I'd actually watched the series, in ten-minute snippets on a video-sharing website, so watching it without compression errors and washing sound was a tantalising prospect. Why else would I be humming 'Tonight a Hurricane' as I packed the other pannier with some textbooks, and a few notebooks ? That and a lego robot that made up the guts of my final year project.

With a flick of a switch, the engine shuddered to life, settling quickly into a fast idle on the choke. Just leave that to warm itself while I get my heated jacket plugged in. Nothing beat a cold November night like an amp or two of electric current through heated kevlar and cheap body armour. Headphone in, Mp3 docked, charging off the battery and set to shuffle. Winter gloves snug as a bug, black gortex furnaces to keep the cold off sensitive fingers. Helmet on and secure, visor down. Throw a leg over the saddle and settle in, hands on the bars and clutch in. Crunch into first gear, sidestand up with a metallic crack. Choke off, little bit of power, clutch out until she bites, roll slowly away, bit of go and let the machine take over. With God's blessing, I'd be home in a half hour.

It wasn't even that cold.

Out onto the main road... a bit of a wobble... I'd only been riding for about two months, and join the flow of traffic. The bike was old, and a bit underpowered but, truth be told, any more power and I'dve killed myself with it. A motorcyclist has two bags, I'd been told when I got the thing... one full of luck, and another full of experience. The trick was to fill the second, before the first one emptied. What I didn't know, was that 'something' had taken upon itself to cut a hole in the one marked 'luck'. Bustling along at 40-odd mph, the last few grains of fortune were metaphorically fluttering to the wind behind me.

Right turn onto a narrow sidestreet, pick up some speed, parked car... open door? Watch the pedestrians incase they bolt. Fuck this is tiring. Clear junction ahead? Drop some speed, cover the brakes. Look left, look right, seems clear and carry on. Get the speed back, steel manhole no grip. Another T-junction ahead. Junction with minor road ahead, no traffic, I have right of way. I wonder if I can get home in time for Galactica? 22:30 according to the bike's clock, I might make it.

A truck rumbled towards me on the right, headlights full ablaze. Too bright! Blinded in a whiteout, the heat of the light soaking through my entire body, I screwed my eyes shut seeing Scania shaped spots. Son of a Polish bitch! He didn't even bother setting his headlights up right. Vision clearing, I threw a glance over my shoulder, maybe to get an idea of what company the git worked for.

_"Extra Dimensions Moving"_

_"Helping you get to where you belong."_

What an odd name for a company, I commented mentally. Especially on a Polish truck. Dismissing it with a shrug, I dropped my gaze back to the road ahead. For a moment, the roadside buildings seemed to rise up to the sky. Damn truck. I shook it off. Something stranger flashed up ahead of me. Where moments before, the junction ahead had been clear, the sleek shape of a black sports car sat waiting.

Looked like a chopped Aston Martin Lagonda. Now where did that come from?

Still half dazzled, I passed by not giving it a second thought. Whatever it was doing was its own business. The ghost of that truck's lights still flared in my eyes as I tried to pick my way through the night. Was it just me, or did the streetlights change colour? I paused to think... probably not the best idea at about 40, and slowly began to notice that the world around me was very... very wrong.

Where once, there had been nothing but red brick houses, now, there were looming grey apartments. Where once, there had been a row of parked cars, now a strange looking payphone, and a pile of trash being picked at by crows. The footpaths were empty, as you'd expect for a late evening.

A dread feeling of unease boiled in my stomach. Something was *very* wrong. I pulled up sharply at the side of the road, letting the bike sit idling for a moment. Grimy, grey buildings loomed high above me, shopefronts shuttered against a cold November night. 22:35, the digital clock read on the binnacle in front of me.

I glanced to my right, then to my left. The signage on the buildings, it wasn't in English. The shop beside me, what was maybe some sort of fasion store. Painted on the sign over the steel shuttered shopfront, were Kanji. Blue ideograms printed on top of pink panelling, dotted with dancing animé characters, and the words "Makinami Illustrious dance shop". Opposite, another shop, closed down and broken into, the sign was rain worn and sun-bleached. "B om r B tz" it read. Inside, the faint glow of a fire sputtered through the cracks in the shutter.

I swallowed a lump building in my throat. This was wrong... this was all wrong. My riding gear, my kevlar jacket, boots and armoured trousers hung heavy and loose off my body, my helmet slipping on my head. I flexed my hands in my gloves, also loose. The bike seemed suddenly heavier, or maybe my legs somehow shorter...

I looked around again… noticing things I hadn't seen before… little details that I'd missed at first glance. My eyesight seemed sharper somehow… the colours around me more vibrant and alive, like somebody's tweaked the saturation setting of the world. It wasn't just my eyesight, my sense of smell, my hearing…. I could hear the bike's injectors firing, clear as a bell. Touch…I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck… each single one.

Deep breath, it's probably just something in my head, some real life form of RPG-time or something. Nothing stood out as feeling outright wrong….. All systems within normal parameters.

Just my head.

Yeah, just in my head that I'm nowhere near where I was ten minutes ago. Not within a hundred miles. And the elastic suspenders off my trousers were digging into my chest. Goddamn that was getting annoying. Great for stopping them being pulled off in an accident, horrendously irritating when you're already spooked as hell.

I better backtrack and catch up with that truck, I thought. Maybe that'd get me home. Setting off again, I hauled the hefty BM around one-eighty, setting off at a speed that was probably a bit higher than sane. Streetlights strobed past, fast and faster, the green-lit needle on the speedometer quickly showing over 60.

No truck... just a few startled pedestrians. Where's that truck? Where did I come in here? Did I go past it? Turn around again. Full throttle, hard acceleration, the blue machine shuddering as it crunched out of, then back into gear beneath the stress. I shot passed the same shopfronts as before, doing near 70 this time. Brake. Stop. Turn. Go back for one last try.

Third time roaring down the same road. Full throttle, engine buzzing and grumbling up through my crotch, panic flaring through my body.

"Where the fuck am I?"

My voice, though muffled by the chin-guard, seemed strangely off pitch, but I didn't care. It seemed like little more than the little red cherry, on top of a rapidly growing sundae of trouble.

"Where the fuck am I?" I mumbled. "Where the fuck am I? Where the fuck am I?"

A few people on the footpaths hooted and waved, cheering at the speeding biker buzzing past. I didn't care what the hell they were thinking, I had more important things to worry about. I glanced down at the speedometer... Too fast! The sensible part of my mind screamed.

I jammed on hard, pulling the big German machine up to an ungraceful, underwear filling halt. I took another frantic look around, my loose fitting helmet sliding against my hair. Ten minutes ago, it had been as snug as a bug in a rug, now it was about to fall off.

"Where the fuck am I?" I repeated, for the final time.

Somewhere, where the signs were written in Japanese with English names beneath them. Somewhere that was strangely quiet for near 11 o'clock at night. Somewhere dirty, somewhere grimy and on the verge of being run down. I pulled one last u-turn and rode off, slowly this time, looking for any sign, any information at all.

Passing the same junction as before, I glanced around looking for that Lagonda-like car I'd seen earlier. Or any car for that matter. The registration would give a hint if I got lucky.

Or not. Wherever I was, people didn't seem to want to park in the street. Or drive for the matter. I took a left turn on a random whim...it seemed the right thing to do somehow, into some sort of shopping district. The hulk of a distant mountain was silhouetted against the night sky in front of me, a glitter of lights tracing a spiral path up its flanks. Compared to where I'd just been, this place was quickly turning into a real neon jungle. It looked a little like Tokyo, come to think of it. But... not Japanese.

Chang's Tiger Chinese restaurant... again, bilingual. And people. Finally, people. Chatting to each other, walking, shopping. All dressed like refugees from Back to the Future. Leg warmers, pastel colours and big hair. I rode on, watching the pedestrians as I did. Civilisation, of some sort, had done wonders for my fears.

If I could figure out where I was... then I'd only have to worry about getting home again. Without a passport. Isn't that what embassies are for? Heh, problem almost solved. I might be home within the week. with a story for the interwebs. And if I could keep telling myself that until the fuel ran out, I'd at least have another hour or two cruising around before I have to start worrying again. Fuel? Money? Not a problem right now.

I took a left turn, passing a heavyweight, retrofuture-styled tow truck hitching itself up to an unlucky green car. What a strange looking thing. The whole cabin of the thing was a glass cage, the wheels blocky, the hucabs flat and metallic and flush with the tyres. The body was a perfectly defined box, with almost no consideration to aerodynamics, save for the near flat sloped windscreen. On the passenger's seat, I glimpsed a set of shopping bags, and some dancing leotards.

Odd...

I craned my head over the shoulder, trying to get a look at the vehicle registration.

Again, Japanese characters.

Well, that settles that then. Somehow, I'm halfway across the world. Deep breath... okay... I am so fucking screwed.

Instantly, I was snapped out of it. A woman, darting across the road, chasing after the van, screaming curses at the tow-truck. Another odd denim jeans and pastel-green top refugee from the 1980's, her jet black hair held up by a headband and brushed to one side. Something about her seemed familiar but I couldn't place her right away.

Her brunette friend waved from the opposite path, he arms loaded with two women's worth of shopping.

I shrugged. I had more important things to worry about. Was this Tokyo? I'd never been to Japan myself, but I knew people who had. A left turn at the next junction... because the traffic lights directed me that way more than any idea of where I wanted to end up...and I came head-on with the blazing headlights of the black Lagonda.

Another Japanese registration.

The driver, a severe red-dressed femme-fatale, with one hell of a fair-haired perm, stared through me as I passed, eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. The sort who's tongue would be sharper than her fingernails, I thought to myself.

I forgot all about her.

Those 'more important' things again.

I carried on, hoping to find a main road of some sort, or a petrol station, somewhere I could get directions, or find out where exactly I am. Find the nearest embassy. Wander in with a surprised look on my face. Get a free flight home. Seemed like a plan. I found an on-ramp to some sort of elevated motorway and a deep-green bilingual roadsign:

_"Yokohama Local 12 Northbound:_

_City Centre District 3._

_City Centre GENOM CHQ._

_City Centre Timex City_

_Joins West Link Coast Road."_

City Centre seemed to be it. That's where embassies would be. I still had about forty kilometres of fuel in the tank between my legs... at a guess... I can get there. Find the right flag, and all will be well. I joined the road, figuring that since I didn't know what the speed limit was, I'd just try match whatever the traffic was doing.

The thing was... What traffic?

For a four lane road, it was eerily deserted. Not a saint nor sinner on the road. The speedo read forty, slow for the road, but I didn't want to push it in case I binned it stupidly, or missed something else important. The dark mountain loomed ahead...almost growing from the middle of the city... How strange.

And then I saw it, a billboard hanging off the side of some anonymous apartment building. Terror gripped my chest, as I jammed the brakes hard on. The bike juddered roughly to a halt, ABS doing well to make up for my terrified hand. Still staring up at this board, my breathing hot and heavy inside my helmet, I kicked the sidestand down, resting the BM' down on it. Leaving it idling, I stepped off, walking towards the sign...

"No way," I muttered to myself. "No fucking way... THIS CAN'T BE REAL!"

My scream was muffled by the chin-bar.

_"Megatokyo Economic and Tourism Council welcomes all New Visitors._

_Worlds' highest standard of living, 2031._

_Sponsored by GENOM corp(R). Building a better tomorrow, today."_

The mountain... the mountain... That was no mountain. This was... this was... this was Megatokyo. Bubblegum Crisis Megatokyo. Was there any other, besides the webcomic? Any other that would be sponsored by GENOM Corporation? I staggered across the road, still staring at the sign in bewilderment, three smiling children, a boy and two little blonde girls, being hugged by a metallic robot. A boomer.

This isn't possible.

Propping myself up against the concrete roadside barrier... Jesus I'm going to get sick, or faint... or something. I took my helmet off, dropping it to the tarmac with a hollow plastic crack. The city air chilled my neck, a soft breeze rustling through my hair.

Somehow... God knows how... I was in Megatokyo, in the year 2031.

Either that or somebody was taking the right royal piss out of things and had gone to a lot of effort to make me think I was in MegaTokyo.

A single white envelope had been taped to the guardrail beside me. It had my name printed on the front, and nothing but my name.

"What the hell?"

Naturally, I opened it. I was probably dreaming anyway... I hoped... it wouldn't do any harm now to play along, would it? On crisp white paper was printed the following.

_Dear Sir/Madam_

_Let me be the first to welcome you to Megatokyo and the year 2032. You may rest assured that the world around you is very much a real one. Real life, and real death. This is the real MegaTokyo that you may know from the animated series, BubbleGum Crisis. GENOM is a real corporation. The Knight Sabers are real vigilantés. Irene Can is a real young woman in real danger._

_This letter will be somewhat brief, as time should indeed be of the essence. Any moment now, a young woman will stumble up the stairs beside you before collapsing on the roadway. You will then have a very simple choice to make. Please Feel free to do what is right by you, but choose quickly._

_Long Days, Pleasant nights._

_Toren Smith._

_CVP Tet Corporation._

Irene Can.

Born to Kill.

I threw a glance to a grey concrete stairway beside me, leading down to another street below. Around me, the anonymous towers rose above me, looming large and sinister as they seemed to close in around.

Irene Can.

Born to Kill.

"Irene!" I heard a woman call out, her voice rising through the buildings

"Bloody Hell," I muttered.

Irene Can.

Born to Kill.

"Irene!"

I glanced around, no traffic on the road. The Blue BM was still idling away to itself, a few blue tufts of oilsmoke puffing from the exhaust. Looking down over the concrete railings, a flash of movement grabbed my eye. I saw her come running around the corner of some darkened shop, the only person on the footpath below. A brunette, wearing a white blouse, shopping bags clutched to her chest as she ran.

Irene Can.

The same black Lagonda from before pulled up at the corner, its driver considering either a quick squash under the wheels, or something more visceral. With a squeal of tortured tyres, it bolted off, following the same road up I had. Any moment now, it would be pulling up along the on-ramp.

I heard Irene scream for help. I might not've spoken Japanese, but I knew what she was saying. In that desperate tone of voice, you're not going to be announcing that everything is alright, are you? My gaze darted between the young woman, and the on-ramp. She yelped in pain as she stumbled on the steps, her baggage tumbling down to the footpath behind. I watched, stunned as Irene pulled herself up onto the roadway, her elbows red and raw.

I was aware of a car squealing up the on-ramp seconds away at most, and the wail of a distant motorcycle engine drawing near.

Irene Can was about to die. There she was, exhausted and panting on the road.

"Irene!" I heard again and she looked up, seeing me standing there dumbfounded.

"Tassu...Katay" she wheezed, her eyes pleading. I didn't know the word exactly, but I knew what it meant

My mouth moved wordlessly. I still held the letter shaking loosely in one hand. The boomer lady in her car was drawing nearer by the second. RUN! my mind screamed. Get away before she skewers you too!. But what about Irene? I can't fight some battle robot. Real danger, right? I don't want to die.

"Tassu...Katay" Irene wheezed again, trying to pick herself up off the ground.

"Bloody Hell," I muttered.

Christ she was in bits, there no way she could run away. If I got out of here, she'd be dead for sure. And then that boomer... that boomer might track me down as a witness. Oh Fuck I'm going to die... The fan cut in on the idling bike beside me, snapping me out of it. The kernel of a really stupid idea formed in my mind

Fuck me... damned if I do, damned if I don't. Jamming the letter in my pocket, I picket the helmet up.

"Irene!" I yelled, and she looked up at me, maybe wondering how I knew here name. "Put it on,"

I tossed the helmet to her and she caught it in shaking hands, giving me a strange, surprised look as if she couldn't quite believe I was there, or that I was helping her. You and me both, I thought.

I settled down onto my bike, hauling it upright off it's stand. Water temperature was over 110, but it was liveable. Irene slipped the helmet over her head, struggling to tie the strap under her chin with shaking hands.

"Get on," I ordered... my voice shaking. I'd lose my license if caught with a pillion passenger... or on a 1000cc motorcycle with more than 25kW.

A blur of headlights sparked off the mirrors, the roar of an engine drawing up behind me. Oh My God... boomer bitch is going to ram us. Irene staggered towards me, her thin legs threatening to give out altogether. I felt the bikes suspension squat down as she pulled herself up onto the pillion seat. Her arms were shaking as she placed them around my waist..

"Arigato..." I heard her whimper through the helmet.

Okay... what now... what the fuck do I do know? Supporting characters have a habit of dying horribly in this Animé, don't they?

"Don't thank me yet," I told myself.

What now? I could hear the Lagonda bearing down, accelerating hard. No way I could outrun it from a standing start. We wouldn't get fifty yards before being mown down like rats. The stairs! I noticed. Well, it's somewhere the car can't go? And didn't some stunt rider ride one of these yokes down a flight of stairs in The Bourne Identity? Yeah... an experienced stunt rider.

Fuck... Gas it and Go.

The engine growled, the bike lurching forward. Oh Lord, please don't let me fuck this up. My stomach rose up the back of my throat as the front end pitched down juddering forward as gravity took hold. Brake!... Hold it. Don't fall down.

Behind, the Lagonda ploughed through the empty space which, moments before had been occupied by myself and my passenger. The cars brakes squealed on, but 2 tonnes travelling at near 60mph wouldn't stop that easily. The car smashed into the barrier with a hollow crump, and a shatter of glass, before spinning off down the road. I glanced over the shoulder, watching for the driver to jump out and bound after us, terminator style. The car's engine was still running.

Irene whimpered behind me, muttering the same words over and over to herself. I felt her pull herself into my back, resting herself against me. It was strangely comforting. Even if I wasn't sure if it was the buzzing of the engine, or sheer abject terror that was causing my hands to shake on the bars.

Now how do I push the bike back up onto the road? It was hard enough just trying to paddle the jallopy back from a kerb. Simple... I don't. Creep forward, hold the bike back with the front brake, and keep the clutch in. Maybe that'll get us down. Tunk...thunk...thunk.. each step sending judders through the suspension. I heard the car rev up behind once more... Miss Terminator wouldn't try and jump it off the bridge, would she? No... Nobody would be that daft, not even a machine. A jump like that would smash the suspension of even a large truck, and leave it dead in the water. Just concentrate on getting down. Keep it stable.

We made it to the bottom of the steps... easier than I thought it would be actually... I stopped at the bottom, not knowing what else to do, or where to go. I thought about the ADP... but I had no idea how to explain who I was. I thought about the Knight Sabers... but I had no idea how to find them. I thought about just riding off into the sunset and happiness with Irene... but I had no idea what the hell to do about that other than head in a general westerly direction.

I thought about asking her to get off and make her own way before the terminatrix got down here... I gave her a fighting chance, the Sabers can take over.

But Linna Yamazaki...she could only have been Linna Yamazaki put a stop to that idea. Half out of breath, the dark haired woman came running around the corner, the same one Irene had moments earlier. She saw me first, parked up on the footpath, Frozen solid and about to throw up. My quivering passenger peered out from behind.

"Irene," smiled Linna, relief written across her features.

"Linna..." And that's about the only thing I understood. She was screaming, she was hysterical, she sounded like she was doing her best not to throw up inside another persons helmet. And fair fucks to her, I wasn't sure I'd have had the same restraint.

I didn't know what the pair of them where saying to, they might've been talking about me, I didn't know. I'd left most of my mind up on that bridge. the Boomer and her car? Would she get out and get after us? How long would it take her to get back down off the motorway, it can't have been more than thirty seconds since the car hit the barrier, and it'd take what... a minute to get down here if it got moving right away?

Linna turned to me, she asked me a question but I had no idea what it was.

"Speak English?" I tried. "No Japanese.."

"Yie," she shook her head, before looking around.

"Boomer... Boomer Attack," I tried... as if shouting might make me easier to understand.

My voice really was off pitch somehow. It didn't seem important though, maybe it was just stress. Another biker pulled up alongside Linna, her face hidden inside a red sports helmet. Her red leather jacket clung tightly to her figure, a pair of blue denim jeans giving strong definition to her legs. Printed in Roman Characters along the Kawasaki-green flank of her forkless sportsbike were the words "Woman From Tokyo".

"Prissu!" Linna started off into another rapid fire explanation that I had no hope of following.

_The _Priss?

"Priss?" wondered Irene.

"What now?" I barked.

"Follow!" Asagiri ordered, pointing back in the direction she'd come from.

One single English word. Follow Priss... alright. I nodded, but really, there was no way I could keep up with herself and her turbocharged road-burning racebike. Linna jumped onto what passed for a pillion seat, moments before Priss nailed it hard enough to spin the whole bike around in a wail of rev's and tyre smoke. Meekly, I paddled my monster BMW around, pushing the beast off the footpath with a clatter.

Priss, and her Kawasaki where a hundred yards down the road, and I was still feet on the floor paddling around.

"Oh Lord, please don't let me fuck this up." I offered up once more.

I'd never been a good Catholic. And God seemed to have decided that since I'd never been a good Catholic, he wasn't going to help me the one time I asked for help and meant it.

There was another squawl of tyres behind me, and the deep bellow of a V8 engine spooling itself up. I glanced back to see... to my horror... that same black Lagonda drifting waywardly around the corner, blue smoke billowing from it's wheels. The headlights might've been smashed, and the bonnet was left in the road somewhere behind it, but that things engine was still running, and it's driver was going to push it to the limit to catch up. The drift though, had robbed the black coupé of whatever momentum it might've had, giving me some chance to get away from it.

Clutch in, First gear, give it some revs and Go!...

Sheer bloody mass fought against torque in a war of physics as the whole machine tried to pivot about it's back axle. Irene squealed in fright, scrabbling to grip onto my back as the saddle tried to slip out from under her.

"Sorry," I yelled back, above the din of the engine.

8500RPM.. change to second...Clutch in, power off...Crunch with the gears, Whack! as a helmet connects painfully with the back of my skull, Clutch out, power on. Full throttle. The BM protesting like a fat man being forced to run a marathon at gunpoint. It wasn't built for this sort of racing action. It was built to cross continents, not set lap records around the Isle of Man.

Crunch into Third... another headbutt. I'd only be riding for a couple of months for Chirst sakes! Priss was holding about 200 yards ahead, the wail of her engine having given way to a flat waiting burr. How shameful... she was waiting for me.

I glanced over my shoulder, checking Irene was still there. Yup... and so was the smashed Lagonda, gaining yards. There weren't many cars that could outrun even this old thing from a standing start, but that car was getting one hell of a runnup.

5 Seconds and I was doing 60mph. Wow... I'd never accelerated this hard before. My arms were locked straight holding me on, and I still felt like I could fall off.

4th gear, and the speedo-needle kept going, the big 4 cylinder engine growling in protest. It grumbled, it buzzed, it sent electric shock vibrations up through my crotch. Damned if my whole body didn't feel weird somehow... nothing wrong as such, just weird. Yeah, must be stress... definitely stress.

80MPH down a three lane city street, and I was pushing this thing faster than I'd ever deliberately gone before. Priss was still pulling away. I gave another hurried glance over my shoulder... the Lagonda was there, less than twenty yards back... but holding. I wasn't going to get skittled off this thing just yet.

I looked to Priss ahead, probably looking back at me and wondering why the hell I was being so slow. Well, I'm so very sorry for being crap at this, alright, it's my first goddamned car chase. And hopefully my last, thank you very much.

90MPH and Fifth Gear... there was no sixth. Full throttle racing forward through crossroads, praying nobody was crossing through. No way I'd stop before the inevitable impact, and no way I'd get back up to speed to avoid a horrific and fatal smash against the front of a black Lagonda if I did.

Irene was urging me forward.

I was staring at a rapidly narrowing point some way beyond Priss' bike, the strobing streetlights and gaunt grey buildings merging into a riotous blur of neon and concrete. I couldn't tell streetlight from roadsign from shopfront. The only constant was a single red dot just ahead, slowly getting nearer.

Priss was letting me catch up.

Another quick glance over my shoulder... Thank God... I was pulling yards on the Boomer.

100 Mh went past in a buzzing blur, the machinery rattling and vibrating beneath me furiously. The silencer shield was rattling behind me, sounding like somebody had thrown a handful of bolts into a washing machine in the middle of a spin cycle.

110MPH, and it fell off, scraping along the roadway before clattering loose. In the mirror, I saw the Lagonda run right over it, mangling the stamped steel under its wheels. That could be me...

Fuck me... Fuck me... Oh Fuck me.

120 and the Lagonda seemed to slow. Right! Japanese cars are limited to 112 Mph, or whatever that is in Kph. I think I could do 130, maybe 140 if I was lucky. Too fast... much too fast... I'd never gone this fast before in my life...never. I'd never been on an airplane, or a high speed train. And now I was in the middle of a high speed pursuit.

Well, this was one bloody life experience I could do without, alright! Priss and her friends can do all their heroics and shit and leave me out of it. I don't want to be a hero... heroes live short lives then die brutal deaths. I want to be mediocre, I want to be normal. I don't want to die screaming with a boomers claws through my chest!

Thank Christ the traffic was non-existant. 22:42. The roads were empty. Small miracles indeed.

Just passed 130 and the BM called it a day, it could go no faster. Aerodynamics would always beat horsepower. But it didn't have to. 50 yards behind Priss, I was pulling 60 yards ahead of the battered Lagonda. This was good... this was surprisingly easy. If I can keep this speed, might just make this As if to taunt me, Priss began to indicate left, the little flashing orange light signalling doom in a left turn. The road ended at a T-junction, with a shopping mall in front.

"Fuck!" I swore. "Fuckit.. Fuckit..."

This just couldn't be that easy, could it?

Brake!... Brake HARD. Irene whimpered as she slid forward, crushing my crotch against the tank. Okay... that should've hurt more than it did... Not Important! The needle swung back down the speedo, the bike juddering hard once more as the ABS took over. I had the front brake back against the throttle, and I was still doing over 70...

Priss swept around the corner, her taillights tracing one smooth arc, Knee down on the tarmac.

50...40...

"Slow Down!" I roared.

Please..

Brake off... can't brake while cornering. The bike bounced back up as the suspension rebounded. Neutral throttle. 3rd gear. Lean it over as far is I dare. Go where you look, go where you look, ignore the beltsander tarmac, and the parked car. Don't fixate on the parked car! If I fall off now I'll burst my head open... Drive it through, driver it through. Not to far... Irene whimpered behind... she was terrified, I was terrified. The V8 Lagonda roared up, it black form looming dangerously large in my peripheral vision. Pull it upright!

"Haiyaku, haiyaku," Begged Irene.

"I am Hurrying!"

Let the bike settle, straight and level. Full throttle again and away, the Lagonda spearing the air behind us. A fraction of a second later and we'dve been dead. "Oh my God... Oh my God..." I mumbled. I saw the car in my mirrors, skidding to a halt in a cloud of tyre smoke, sideways into the front window of the shopping centre. Some mannequin stumbled out across the engine bay, tumbling under the wheels as the car roared after us.

I was already passing 70 again, and up into 4th gear by the time the car was even off the footpath.

Relief soothed my veins. We might just make this. Linna glanced back to check on us. Yeah, still here... barely. Priss signalled a right turn. Thanks for that... really.

"I can't take corners!" I roared after her.

Priss and Linna swooped out of view, the howl of their exhaust hanging in the air.

Right turn, same as before. Enough distance ahead of the Lagonda that it couldn't try ram us, but still close enough that one fuckup and we'd be dead. Get it stopped, get it turned, get back up to speed again.. I could do this. This bike was so heavy, my arms were killing me. Three minutes in and I just wanted to stop.

Power down a side street, barely wide enough for a car, the buzzing drone of my engine mingling with the banshee yowl of Priss' and the sinister growling of the V8 Lagonda. Roaring engines echoed off of concrete towers, backfires like gunshots in the confined alleyway. Concrete walls roared passed on either side, the battered form of the Lagonda still looming dangerously in my mirrors.

My heart was racing harder than my engine. My breath, rapid and panicked. Terror fired through my veins. I might be able to keep ahead of that car as long as my fuel held out...emphasis on might... But I knew I'd run out of fuel long before that car, and when that happened, dead in the water wouldn't just be a figure of speech. The fuel light wasn't on, so I had more than 5 litres left, enough for maybe thirty minutes or so at this sort of pace. No warning lights, other than high-beam being on. Engine temperature still holding at 110, oil pressure seemed fine. The bike was doing better than I was.

Another tight left, followed quickly by a right, and the distance to the Lagonda spread quickly.

We were doing it... My God we were pulling away. The BM clattered and shook its bars over bumps I watched Priss bounce over without breaking stride. The Lagonda was still there, but the distance was getting wider and safer.

Another left turn, and we were out into city traffic. A blast of an airhorn and a delivery truck rose up beside me, swerving violently as I shot like a bullet out of a side-road into its path. I stared at the stunned driver as I passed. Another near miss... Third one so far. I didn't know it then , but my bag of luck was fluttering empty behind me.

The traffic was heavier, the lights were brighter, but the speeds were still in triple digits. The blare of horns mingled with the roar of engines and the squeal of tyres as I chased Priss through the city. Watch the car, watch the pedestrians. Red light! Should I Stop? Don't be silly, it's a car chase. High speed pursuits have right of way on TV. There's no traffic. Power.. Power through. Don't close your eyes. Don't hit the kid. I don't want to die. 120MPH... Too fast! my mind screamed. I released the throttle, bleeding speed off. I couldn't keep up... I just couldn't go at those speeds. It was too fast... too fast for the city.

The gap ahead to Priss opened, until she threw a look over her shoulder and braked down to match.

"I can't do this... I just can't do this."

Grit teeth and go. Dead when I smash into some turning car, or dead when the boomer runs me down? Dead was dead, but at least I had a choice how I'd go. Again, I glanced over my right shoulder, looking for that black car. Nothing. Gone?

Did the boomer give up? Where was it?

Over my left shoulder?

Nothing but a lumbering delivery van. Where did it go?

Right shoulder? Nothing but a line of traffic in the opposite lane.

Left Shoulder again.

There it was! swinging around the inside of the van. It was a queer relief to see it there again. Barely slowed by the traffic, it might've even have gained slightly. Okay, look ahead. Looking backwards at 80mph is really dumb. Look ahead, where's Priss?

Indicating right and halfway through another turn.

"Shite" I swore, grabbing at my front brakes once more.

I bolted up the up the outside of a line of traffic, patiently waiting to make the same turn. Ahead, Priss and Linna where already accelerating away. The traffic lights switched to green as I released the brake, setting the bike up to make another turn. Same as before, follow Priss' lead.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the orange flash of a car's indicator and something moving beside me. I barely had a moment to register this, before the impact. A single, solid, hollow bang. It felt as if the hand of God had reached down and given the tail a good hard whallop with the palm of his hand, throwing the back end up around into the air. The handlebars wrenched over in my arms, my right hand pushing under, dragging the throttle wide open. Hold it! my mind screamed, as the engine revved right up, spinning up the rear wheel while it hung in mid-air. I thought I might still save it... maybe dumb luck would bring it back.

Irene gave a yelp of terror.

The handlebars went light in my hands as the crash bars protecting the engine casings touched down first, the machine pirouetting around on a piece of stainless steel tubing. With a metallic crash the tail finally slammed back down, the bike kicking hard over as the madly spinning rear tyre bit the tarmac momentarily, throwing the machine into a flat spin on its side. DvD cases, lego bricks and notebooks went flickering past mixed with the shattered black plastic remains of the left-hand pannier and translucent orange shards of some car's indicator.

Irene was screaming, I felt her grip on my back tighten momentarily, before releasing as the force of the spin launched her tumbling across the road. The full weight of the bike, over 280 kilograms, came down hard on my leg. I heard the snap of my shin bone letting go inside my boot and had enough time to wonder just where the pain might be, before a great weal of agony exploded inside my leg. The engine was still racing at top speed, almost screaming in pain with me as the wrecking bike dragged me along the road. The hollow scratch of scraping plastic mixed with the tinny ring of abrading metal and my own agonised scream. Sparks showered across the road, a burning friction fire began to scorch the whole left side of my body through my armour, the road tugging hard at the kevlar fabric. I glanced at the speedometer and saw it still reading 40... Oh Christ when will this stop? Brake! My panicked mind implored... Stop it... stop... stop... For the love of God please Stop!.

Eventually, it did.

Silence reigned, except for my own terrified, shaking breathing, and the slow tsk...tsk...tsk of the already stalled engine cooling, quietly berating me for thinking I might actually be able to save someone's life. Dizzily, I looked over the clocks, red lights announcing low oil pressure and low fuel then craned my head upwards to look for Irene.

She was lying on her side with her face towards me, her right arm snapped over at an unnatural angle. Her clothes were torn and bloodied, the skin on her arms, legs and in strips across her body abraded clean off… in places down to the bones. Blood was already starting to soak into her ripped blouse, pooling on the road underneath her.

Her eyes were wide open, staring through the cracked visor at me. Dead?

She blinked… tried to move… then started to scream. You don't come off a motorcycle at sixty wearing only light summer clothes and walk away.

I tried to crawl out from under the wreck, tugging at my injured leg. Another volcano of pain erupted inside my shin, agony surging up through my body, a hundred little aches and pains announcing themselves in turn. It was at that moment that my brain decided it had finally had enough and I promptly fainted into darkness.

Game over.

-**I...I**

Just a dream...

Tak Tak. Takka-tak-tak. Tak tak-takka.

The first thing I became aware of was the clatter of somebody typing at a keyboard, and the gentle whirr of a computers fan. Cracking my eyes open, I was expecting darkness... Instead, the room was filled with a dim blue light, casting long shadows across the ceiling.

"Who's using my computer?" I slurred groggily.

The typing stopped.

I rolled my head over on a sweat and fabric-softener smelling pillow. Silhouetted against the blue glow of a computer monitor was the frame of a teenage boy, a reflection of the harsh light from the screen. I blinked, not quite sure what I was seeing for a moment. What happened to my own bedroom?

Nervously, I looked around, seeing the outlines of shelving and other knick-knaks lining the walls, all picked out among a forest of long, inky black shadows. The my right, the computer and the boy, almost to bright to look at. In front of me, what might've been the outline of a door, with a glint of light coming back off the handle, and the hunched forms of a dresser and closet, and the reflection of the boy's silhoette in a mirror.

I could see the rough outline of my own shadow staring back at me from the bed beside him. My body... I felt fine. A few aches and pains that could be expected, and an odd tingly numbness down me left leg more like a hundred maggots nibbling away happily than pins and needles. I did not need that sort of mental image after such a nightmare...

To my left, a wall made up entirely of panelled windows, through which I could see the sparkling city beneath, glittering like Christmas tinsel sparking off of the neon lights. And that same dark mountain looming over the city, a black stain on dull orange night-sky.

The boy spoke briefly into a headset. Japanese language.

I looked up at him, feeling a sudden knot of fear twisting in my gut.

"It was just a dream?" I asked him.

He turned his head and smiled back at me, a sort of "I have no idea what you're saying so I'll just smile and hope you shut-up until I can find someone who does" kind of smile. It just unsettled me more.

It...was...a dream...?

I sat up in bed, grunting as shooting pains bolted across my chest and down my spine. Purple bedsheets pooled lazily around my waist.

Please... somebody tell me it was just a dream.

I placed my left hand down gently on top of my left leg, barely sensing it through the thick duvet cover. Alright, time for the acid test. Brace yourself and push...

There really was nothing else I could do but scream, hot needles of fire stabbing through the bone.

The boy launched himself out of his chair with fright. "Yammatay, Yammatay!" he begged, launching into a list of rapid fire demands.

I could only answer with blank and bloody terrified incomprehension, the pain in my leg dying down into a manageable ache. So long as I didn't move anyway. Each shift, each jerk, sent new sparks of agony shooting up through my thigh. I could grunt, I could grimace, in between terrified breaths I could add more swear words to the English language in a minute than a shipful of sailors in a decade.

He tapped something rapidfire out onto his keyboard.

::"Be Calm".

An idea of the word, rather than the word itself, flashed through my mind. The shock of it stopped me dead. Where had that come from? I felt something gently tugging at my arm, just beneath my wrist. There was what looked like an RJ-45 cable connected to a small port protruding from the bottom of my arm, just before my wrist.

"Bloody hell," I mumbled.

I tugged at it gently.

::"Do not touch!"

My hand froze. I stared at the little silver port, watching green and orange LED's flicker, exactly activity lights on an ethernet port. Strange...nothing seemed wrong with the concept of an ethernet port hanging off the bottom of my wrist at all, despite the obvious fact that by rights, the only thing that should've been there was bare skin and the faint outline of tendons.

I gripped my right hand gently into a fist, muscles in my now oddly hairless arm contracting and bulging slightly. Since when did I have such good muscle tone? I wondered. Since when did I have such slender fingers? Nothing seemed outright wrong with them, they just weren't my fingers.

And yet at the same time they where.

I could feel my pulse in my neck, running down my arms and across my chest. I could feel cold air flowing through my lungs with each breath I took, I could feel my stomach tying itself in loops as my brain tried to process what my eyes were telling it. I felt normal, well as normal as possible with a broken leg, except my right arm wasn't my own, and had an ethernet port in it.

And it wasn't like the 'It's all a dream' excuse would work this time now, would it. The pain of a broken leg should've woken me up if it was. What in the name of God was going on? Is my mind playing tricks on me? Am I doped up on morphine or something? I must be, why else would I have an ethernet port in my right arm

The boy... in his mid teens it seemed, knew what he was doing with that computer. His hair was cut short, but he still managed to have his fringe turned up with a calves lick. He glanced back at me, away from his screen, a mixture of curiosity and concern written across his features as I sat there on the bed, staring in absolute bewilderment at the arm that wasn't my arm, but at the same time was.

God knows how insane he thought I was. I didn't have to think, I was bloody certain I'd gone off the deep end. Maybe I'd hit my head when I crashed? What did they call bikers in the States who chose not to wear a helmet?... Organ Donors? Did I split my brainpan open on the tarmac and leak the whole of my sanity out across the road?

Try as I might, the harder I stared at my right arm, the more it seemed determined to stay exactly as it was.

The boy returned to his typing. I tried to get a look at his screen, but I could see much past his slight frame, not much more than what looked like a BASH terminal, and a woman's figure with a bunch of green indicators across it. Except for the left leg, a cluster of reds gathering around the centre of the shin.

A terrible realisation began to form in my mind. I shook it off... that can't be right. No... No way in hell. No way in hell? I was already there by the looks of things. I cast a quick glance across to the hulking GENOM tower, thousands of lights flickering in bands across its surface like the devils Christmas tree.

And then down at my left arm.

A perfect mirror of the right. Slim, hairless and toned. On a whim I wondered if maybe it had its own ethernet port, or something like that. The answer was given by a quick touch by two fingers to the centre of my palm, a little like Spiderman shooting his web. I didn't have to think about doing it, instinct seemed to do it for me.

An electric tingle traced a deep red slit across my wrist, which popped open to reveal what seemed to be a cross between RS232 a USB port and a ten-pronged block connector staring me in face.

:: cat /proc/prod_info :: /dev/vox1 && cat /proc/rd_data :: /SYL22/media/THUMB_DISK

"Model number B-U-3-3-S." I intoned, my voice flat and inhuman "GENOM corporation. Production Identification: 3-3-D-B-2-6-D-H-3-0-W-F-4-2-K-Z-1-0-D-9-7-X-4-9-A-K-R-D-1-0-8. Chassis type: ACSX -MEG-DECKARD," I couldn't stop it, how do I stop it? How do I cancel it"AI type: 11 MMX-NE-"

By just cancelling the command, of course. More typing from the boy.

::"Test only. Please cooperate,"

"Like I have a choice," I said to myself.

::"Use please network message talk."  
::"Can machine translate text simpler,"

How?

::"This?" I answered.

::"Yes"

The boy turned and smiled at me. It felt better to be able to communicate, even if it was through the most inhuman method imaginable.

::"What are you doing?"

I watched as the boy typed his answer out in Japanese character, before translating them with a quick key combination, and sending them onto my with a quick enter.

::"Taking system information."  
::"No root modify access to control files,"  
::"Read only mode,"

I held both my wrists in front of my face, reflections dancing across the stainless steel I/0 ports.

IEEE 8223.4d on the left. 10TBASE-T Ethernet on the right.

"Alright," I said aloud, taking a deep breath. At least I could control it if I had to.

::cat /proc/rd_data : /SYL22/media/THUMB_DISK

I let him do it, watching the flickering activity lights pulse with each packet of data. Data from inside me. Again, I touched the palm of my left hand with two fingers, and the port snapped back in, the same electric tingle announcing itself as the small slash in the skin that marked its presence healed over.

"Bloody Hell,"

The boy typed one more message into his terminal before setting it to shutdown, popping a disk out of the machines drive:

::"Thank you, wait"

He stood up, gave me an almost sorrowful smile, then left the room. I watched him walk out, for some reason analysing his stride. He favoured his right leg; he never put his full weight down on his left. Light flooded the bedroom for a moment as he opened the door the entire room coming into sharp focus for a second. I saw the figure of a woman looking in at me for a second, silhouetted against the light. I had enough time to wonder who she was for a second, before the door was pulled shut with a hollow brass click.

Darkness reigned once more, save for the cold glow of the computer.

A CRT screen, fitted into a blocky plastic frame with an integrated keyboard. A microcomputer terminal squatting on top of a wooden cabinet. I wasn't sure, but I thought I could just about make out the words Digital Equipment Corporation printed under the screen in wine-coloured font.

And then it went dark, leaving me with only the ruddy orange afterglow from the city of Megatokyo for company.

I unplugged the CAT-5 from my wrist with a gentle tug, being careful that I didn't pull the whole lot of whatever was inside out with it, leaving only the bare metal port dimly highlighted in the gloom. A tap with my finger against my palm, and it was gone, disappearing back inside my arm with the same electric tingle as before.

Part of me noted that it felt strangely similar to the tingle running through my left leg, when I let it settle still.

I lay back down on the bed, despair flooding through my body as another hot crucible of pain was poured up through from the forge inside my leg. I could feel hot tears slowly beginning to flow down my cheeks.

"I want to go home," I whimpered, feeling a sob rising up the back of my throat. I tried to swallow, tried to force it back down, but no joy. I just lay their, quietly sobbing into an alien pillow.

Why?

Why did this have to happen to me?

I knew people who *wanted* this, who'd give their left arms and then some to be lying in the same bed as me. Why not one of them?

Why did it have to be me?

I didn't cry myself to sleep, or bawl my eyes out until someone came running in with some tranquilisers or a gun to shoot me up, shut me up and get some peace and quiet for themselves. I did nothing at all as dramatic. Eventually, I just sort of stopped on my own, lying there on my back, staring up into the high ceiling.

I wasn't in my own universe.  
I wasn't in my own body.  
I wasn't even human anymore.

Well, no amount of crying would solve that, would it?

I knew what I was. I knew what a BU-33-S was. One quick glance inside a silken nightdress confirmed it. A pair of firm breasts, rising and falling with every breath. There was no real curiosity about what they were, or what they felt like, no urge to squeeze or fiddle around like a schoolboy. I knew what the answers would be, so what was the point?

I knew what I could've done with myself...I definitely knew how to do it. I knew what was secretly expected even of anyone who should happen to be 'lucky' enough to find themselves somehow in a body of the opposite gender, but I just didn't really want to. It seemed pointless, a waste of time and energy on some frivolous self service that wouldn't actually tell me anything about myself I didn't already know.

I was a sexaroid. The thoughts of it and what that entailed should've made me shudder, should've made me sick, but it didn't. The snarky, more cynical part of my mind that found humour in such horrors as the holocaust and 9/11 was happily pointing out that I was really nothing more than a walking, talking fleshlight. The truly terrifying thing was, I was perfectly okay with having two large breasts. I was perfectly comfortable with having a vagina. I was perfectly content with being a goddamned glorified sex-toy.

It was expected. It was what I was *supposed* to be, my subconsciousness soothed. There was nothing wrong, it assuaged at every turn.

You know what that meant? There was a real juicy looking peach of a realisation hanging off of the tree of knowledge. Whoever'd done this to me, hadn't just been messing with my body, they'd been inside my head too. They'd tweaked my mind to suit their own sinister ends. I wasn't myself physically, and I probably wasn't myself mentally anymore.

I should've been going mad the moment... I should've bolted into a dark corner and huddled up, rocking myself back and forward while muttering "There's no place like home" insanely to myself over and over again in the forlorn hope that just because it worked for Dorothy in Oz, it'd have to work for me too. And maybe I should just do that anyway? Prove to myself that I'm not this thing every circuit or synapse in whatever you're supposed to call a bloody boomers brain is telling me I am.

Or I could just lay there brooding over it, hatred and anger towards this Tower Smith, or Toren Smith, or whoever it was that had signed their name at the bottom of that letter boiling in the pit of my stomach. I had no idea who the bloody hell they were, but I knew they were responsible, and God how I hoped that somehow, someday I'd find a way to get them back for it.

Wasn't revenge a theme in Bubblegum Crisis after all?

My leg still throbbed, my body still ached occasionally. A real pain. There was something perversely reassuring about it. Real iron and steel machines couldn't feel pain after all. That didn't mean it wasn't bloody uncomfortable either any time I tried to shift around in the bed either, now, but at least I could feel. For some reason I found myself thinking about Robocop, or that episode of ADPolice files…

I tapped open the ethernet port in my wrist again, catching the light on the polished metal and sighed.

I was too worn out for this sort of self analysis. Maybe I should just leave it all until the morning. Well rested, maybe with a good breakfast in me... I'd have plenty of energy to be pissed off then, and maybe enough left over to do something about it.

At least the bed was comfortable... and so were my boobs. Soft enough so that I could curl up into myself, and maybe pretend for a moment that they weren't my own at all. I could've nodded off right then and there, had fate not decided to get in the way, again.

I heard footsteps outside, a different stride to the boy's I realised.

I never gave much thought to who he'd been... I had much more important things on my mind at the time. I had the sinking feeling that maybe I should've been paying attention to where I was, as opposed to what I was.

The door opened slowly, a shaft of light spearing across the room.

I screwed my eyes shut. Pretend I'm asleep, then they might leave my alone. I gently tapped my network port closed again.

"I know you're awake," said a woman's voice. Cool, cultured, with the barest hint of a Japanese accent. "Your breathing is too fast,"

She stepped into the room, her body throwing a long black shadow across the bed. I grimaced into my pillow, swearing inside my own mind. Okay, deep breath. Whoever they were, they didn't sound evil. I sighed to myself, then pulled myself over onto my back and sat up, grunting as a hundred new pains sparked off inside my shin.

Squinting, I could see the dark outline of a woman's figure standing inside the door, the harsh light from outside stabbing at my eyes.

"Who are you?"

"That was my question," the voice thawed a little.

This woman, she seemed to be wearing some sort of business dress. A long, pencil skirt coupled with a formal jacket. Her hair was short, I thought, with a few stray curls making a bid for freedom, maybe a symptom of a late night.

"I am Sylia," she said clearly. "Sylia Stingray,"

For the life of me, I wasn't sure whether to be relieved, or terrified. I just sat there, looking up at her, then down at a dark spot somewhere then back up at her again.

"I take it by your silence, that you recognise that name, and probably where you are aswell,"

Slowly, a few stray pieces began to join together, forming the top corner of a very large and complex jigsaw puzzle. It was a certainty, but not a very helpful one in truth.

"Yes, I do," I answered her with a gentle nod, my voice small, and strangely meek.

"Then maybe you might tell me who you are?"

"Well..." I started, with no real idea just how I was going to finish that. "This isn't my real body," I said nervously, forcing a rueful grin.

I'm from another dimension. One where this is just an animé series, and you're all fictional characters and... Well, if somebody said that to me, I'd think they were gone off the deep-end. I wonder, maybe Sylia already thought I was going haywire as it was, why reinforce the impression?

It was then I noticed she was holding something in her hand, what looked like a folded piece of paper. Sylia glanced down at it for a moment, before looking right back up at me,

"And your real name and date of birth then?"

I answered truthfully, and confidently. I realised that, if Sylia had picked me up after the crash, not only did she have my wrecked bike, she had my clothes, all my identification, my computer, and whatever else I might've stowed in the panniers.

Including the Bubblegum Crisis DvD's themselves.

"Did you find them?" I asked, quietly, a nervous quiver entering my voice.

"Yes," she said simply. "Born to Kill. It was...an interesting experience,"

Her voice chilled, and my heart froze. Well, another part of my mind noted, at least there was proof.

"I don't think I can explain it, I don't really understand what happened myself," my mouth started. "I was just riding along home same as usual and then this truck went passed, and I was here, in Megatokyo and there was this letter in an envelope, and then there was that Boomer in her car and..."

I felt sick as the nights events hit back hard again.

Sylia sighed.

"I'm not sure whether to believe this..." she started.

"Neither am I," I cut her off sourly

Sylia was a black silhouette against the light, but I could still feel her glaring at me… concerned, not angry.

"But I do think that you may also be a victim of whatever kind of strange joke this might be," she continued calmly, "I found the letter in your pocket, the one from Toren Smith. He's sent another one, addressed to the both of us,"

Her voice flattened. She was as unsure about this as I was... I didn't know how I could tell exactly, but I could. She placed the paper she'd been holding at the end of the bed, close enough so that I could reach with only a little difficulty, but still keeping herself safely distant from me.

"What..." I glanced down at the white paper, another crinkled sheet taped crudely to it. "What happens now?"

"Depending on how the rest of the night goes, either we will have a proper conversation in the morning or..." she paused, considering her words "Or you won't have to worry about it,"

The implication being that if I never woke up in the morning, I'd never even get the chance worry at all about it.

"Whatever happens, get some rest. The repairs to your leg will complete themselves faster if you do,"

As she turned to leave, I reached forward, ignoring the discomfort in my leg as best I could, and grabbed the paper. The taped on sheet, was the same letter I'd found at the side of the road, crumpled from having been stuffed in my pocket, torn a bit in the crash, then carefully sellotaped back together.

It reminded me of the real reason I was lying there. A horrible image of Irene's staring eyes and bloodied body flashed before my eyes, sending chilling shudders down my spine.

"One more thing," I said...

Do I really want to know this now? I asked myself. I was at the frayed end of a very long tether as it was. Another final blow to my psyche and I might let go if it completely.

"Yes?" Sylia Paused in the doorway, looking back at me.

"Irene. Did she?...um... Did she..." out with it! "Did she live?"

"Yes," answered Sylia. "That old helmet probably saved her life, and that's the important thing for now."

I sensed a dreadful 'but' hanging in the air, but mercifully, Sylia decided to spare me from whatever it had been.

"Goodnight," she said, before leaving me in the darkness once more.

Irene was alive. Thank you God. Thank you Jesus. Thank you dumb blind fucking luck. I drifted back down onto my pillow, drawing a deep, satisfying breath. Something good. Something actually *good*.

But no, that pessimistic part of my brain just wouldn't let me sleep on that. It was too warm, to fuzzy, to happy an ending for a shit day. It insisted on reminding me of the last time I'd seen someone come off a motorbike with only a t-shirt and jeans on, of the mess that had to be shoveled up off of the road. It was why I *never* rode a motorcycle without armour on... never. Only an idiot would, only an idiot would take a passenger at high speed without giving them something.

In my minds eye, I could still see Irene laying there in front of me, her clothes all torn and soaked with blood.

She was alive, but after a crash like that what was left to actually live?

I let the question hang for a moment, trying to picture it floating in middair somewhere between myself and the ceiling, like a WW1 Zeppellin with a nasty bombshell aboard, poised for release.

I took a breath, feeling my chest tickle as it rose and fell, pushing against the inside of my nightdress. It was late. I was tired... or had a low battery...or whatever it was supposed to be for a boomer. It was a question that could be answered in the morning, if I felt up to it. Sylia was right. Irene was alive, and that was the important thing.

If she was alive, she could recover.

-**I...I**

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, Philip K. Dick once asked?

I don't know... but they do dream. I did.

I didn't dream of KnightSaber heroics, or high-speed shenanigans through the Megatokyo. I dreamt of riding home and pulling into the drive, same way I always had. And of my black Jack Russel dog, running out the door to meet me, as he always did.

He still recognised me inside a Boomers body. Dogs are awesome that way. Even inside this manmade cybernetic skin, a good dog can see through to the heart of the person inside, see who they really are.

-**I...I**

Morning came and I woke up, before I realised I'd even gone to sleep. I slowly rolled over in the bed, not really wanting to wake up, not in this bed at any rate. The pain in my leg had dimmed to a dull, omnipresent throb, pulsing with my heartbeat. And still, that ever present tingle. I tapped my LAN port open then closed again, telling me everything I needed to know.

Nothing had changed...

Outside and far below, I could hear the bustle of a morning's rush hour traffic.

Lethargically, I rolled over onto my back, trying to get my face out of the hot sunlight. It burned through sleep, searing it away until I had no choice but to open my eyes, and stare up at that harsh white ceiling. The beige-box terminal still sat idle on it's wood veenered cabinet, a blue CAT-5 dangling off it's back.

GENOM tower cast a possessive black shadow across the city outside, the sun rising behind the sinister ziggurat.

I was still a boomer. I was still in a bedroom somewhere in Megatokyo. I was still alive,

Curiosity demanded that I look at the remains of my leg. Lifting the white bedsheets to one side, I saw it braced with two sheets of firm plastic, and a number of bandages. A dark purple bruise spread across the centre of the throbbing pain. I braced myself, before poking a finger right into the centre of it. Pain almost like weight seemed to spread up through my leg... not starting and shooting agony... more like a pressure trying to crush the bone. Gently running my fingers along the bone, I could feel where it had been broken, and where it was now knitting itself back together.

On the dresser beside me, somebody had left a small card with a picture of some unfortunate manga character in traction. Inside was printed in deliberate letters:

_"Thank You for trying.__  
-Linna Yamazaki"_

I placed it back down, shifting back in the bed so I could sit back against a cool concrete wall. Thank you for trying, it had read. Trying. It should've made me feel better than it it did. Instead, it just reminded me of that first horrible crunching impact and then a red-raw Irene. I shook it out of my head.

It was too nice a morning,

The sun was warm but not too hot. My cream coloured nightdress hung loose and cool off the body, and leg aside, I felt fit as a horse, and hungry as one too. A few strands of rust-coloured hair littered the pillow. Hmm... I was a redhead. A quick glance at the reflection in the mirror at the opposite end of the room confirmed as much. Not too long, and hanging down to my neck

It was just right. Not to long, not to short. Just enough to be attractive without overwhelming the face.

I could hear people moving around outside, Sylia's voice in Japanese, the boy... who could only be Mackie answering her. Mackie was the one who came through the door, wearing oil-stained mechanics overalls, some clothes under one arm, a steaming bowl of what looked like porridge in his other hand.

"Ahhoyo Gozzaimus," he greeted cheerfully, a bright smile on his face.

I just smiled back. A cheerful face was a nice thing to see in the morning, especially after the night from hell. Even if, the whole time he was in the room with me, he never once looked away from a spot a couple of inches below my neck. What could I expect from a teenage boy though? I asked myself while eating breakfast

It was edible. Sweet, starchy, with a strong metallic aftertaste. It was like somebody had mixed iron filings or something in. If I looked closely, I thought I could even see them twinkling back at me, little specs of glitter sparkling back at me. Odd, I thought, poking at it with a spoon. It didn't make the food any less appetising. It was exactly what I needed.

A night's rest and a belly full of hot porridge had done a power of good for my spirits. A new energy began to surge through my veins, my body recharging like a battery. I got my head straightened out to the point where I could begin to at least think about where to go from here. Okay, so that still depends on whatever Sylia decides to do with me...somehow escaping from an armoured building, being chased by four specialised anti-boomer vigilantés, with a broken leg for company, didn't seem like a going proposition.

If I had to be a boomer, why couldn't I have been one of the ones with the big guns?... Okay, the deadlier 'blow a decent sized tank up' sort of big guns... But the powers that be probably thought that would make thing's too bloody easy for me, now wouldn't they? It would be so much more entertaining for them to watch me scream in terror through a Tokyo street at 100mph, than to just turn around and blow the car up.

Speaking of which, now, where did I put that paper Sylia left last night?

I'd fallen asleep on it.

It was crinkled, sweat-blurred and torn nearly in half, but was still just about legible. Maybe it might have more of an explanation, I hoped. It was probably a false hope, but false hope was batter than nothing.

_Dear Sir/Madam__  
__  
Congratulations on Making it this far. I see we made a good choice in you, and that you made a good choice with Irene. Had you left Irene to die, it is likely that her assailant would have tracked you down aswell, and it would be unlikely that the Knight Sabers would have come to your aid as effectively as they were able to, after you passed out. While Irene's survival beyond this point is by no means guaranteed, the important thing is that you have made an effort and proved yourself capable.__  
__  
The information above in Japanese is not for your digestion, especially not at this time. We also understand that as Sylia is bilingual, she will no doubt read this. Be advised that she will know everything that is written here, so there is no point trying to hide it, or be coy about it. There is nothing to gain, and a lot to loose. If she asks you about who you are and what you were doing at that overpass, do not lie to her. No matter how ridiculous the truth may seem, it is imperative that you tell it.__  
__  
The Truth is you are indeed in what would seem to you to be another world. Do not concern yourself with the mechanisms through which this was performed, they are curr__ently beyond your understanding.__ Regardless of what happens you are here for the long run. Accept this quickly, and you will save yourself and Sylia a lot of trouble. __  
__  
Secondly, you may have noticed that you are no longer 'yourself'. __It can also not have escaped your attention that you are no longer human. __At the same time, you may have realised that you are comfortable with the change, or that you feel on a subconscious level that your body is the correct __one. This is intentional. It is difficult to bring organic matter between universes using the technology we have available to us. Also, it is clear to us that Sylia would be less-willing to accept a male member into the Knight Sabers, than an apparently female one. You need not be concerned about the effect this will have on your sanity, or your personality. We have performed alterations to your psyche which will cause you to accept your body, as if it had been your own. It will be a non-issue to you.__  
__  
The full capabilities of your body are available to you, should you wish to use them. There are also some technical drawbacks, be aware of them as they can be potentially deadly. You should be able to call up your full technical information for your own digestion at will. It will not be repeated here.__  
__  
Although you are a boomer, you are not registered to an owner. This is technically illegal. If intercepted by the ADP you can legally be destroyed for this. Sylia may choose to rectify this at her discretion. If she chooses to do so, you must remember that you are then technically her property. Whether she chooses to make an issue of this or not, is up to her. Whether she chooses to offer you a position as a Knight Saber or not, is up to her. Sylia will choose what is best for the Knight Sabers, not what is best fo__r y__ou. __  
__  
Finally, if you are ever unsure of what to do, think of your fathers face. Would you feel you would be able to look him in the eye, and tell him of your actions? If not, perhaps consider that you may be making a mistake. We wish you luck in your endeavours, and hope that our next correspondence will see you in good spirits and good health.__  
__  
Long Days, Pleasant nights.__  
Toren Smith.__  
CVP Tet Corporation.__  
_  
And, handwritten on the bottom in crystal clear cursive script

_P.S Because those who wish for this, are usually the worst for the job.__  
_  
I sat in stunned silence for a moment, the sweat moist printer paper drooping in my hand. It boiled in my mind, stewing and festering into a ball of frustrated anger. They didn't even tell me why they took me. My fist closed around the paper sheet, squeezing it together into one solid mass.

"God Fucking damn them!" I screamed, flinging it against the reflection in the mirror.

I missed, the ball thudding against the wall just above, before dropping limply to the floor.

"Good morning to you too," a surprised Sylia answered, standing in the doorway. How anybody managed to look so demure and elegant at 9:35:47 am, especially after such a busy night. The navy business suit, knee-length pencil skirt, underarm laptop computer, and short, clean cut hair served to project the ideal impression of the modern self-supporting young businesswoman...And made her look about ten years more 'mature' than she actually was, but I challenge anyone to say that out loud.

"Sorry about that," I said shamefully. "It's just...stressful,"

"I can imagine," she said conversationally.

I took a deep breath,

"I read the letter from last night,"

"And,..." she pushed.

I was comfortable... I was happy... my life was just going tickety fucking boo...

"They never told me why I'm here… they just come down like their God on fucking high and pull me away from everything I hold dear… for no reason other than because it amuses them? Then they tell me I've free will to make my own choice, when everything to get me here was scripted and set up… so that the only choice I make is the one they wanted."

"Oh...how so?"

"Irene... They brought me here right beside her. They wanted me to park there. They wanted me to see her and rescue her. They said I could make my own choice and do what I wanted to but... well..." I wasn't sure how to put it.

"When someone begs for your help, you just have to try anyway," finished Sylia for me.

I nodded, as she sat down beside me.

"Rescuing Irene, or trying anyway..." Oh how I hated that trying part. Deep and painful, guilt stung me in the throat, "They knew it would attract our attention, and maybe our friendship. It's why we can have a civilised conversation here now,"

I didn't want to think about the alternative. Sylia took a breath.

"They sent you to me, with the expectation that I would be impressed enough to make you a Knight Saber. They want you to be a Knight Saber. On its own, that's a good enough reason not to go along with them." she told me, straight out. "I won't be lead into accepting a new member who I don't think I can trust,"

I sighed,

"I'm not sure I want to be a hero anyway myself. Heroes die and..."

Part of me was disappointed, truth be told. Most of me was relieved. No, I wasn't some knight in shining armour. I was ordinary. I wanted to be ordinary. Ordinary in this town is safe. Ordinary won't get me blown to pieces by the ADP, or shot by GENOM.

"Then why did you try help Irene?" Sylia asked neutrally.

"I don't know?" I shrugged, hoping she might know the answer herself."I was dead anyway, the least I could do was try." the important word being 'try'. "For all the good it did," I added sourly.

"If that DvD is as right as you say it is, Irene should be dead," Sylia reminded me, "She might have been injured in the crash, but she will survive. A body can be rebuilt, a life can't. If you'd just ridden off wouldn't the same thing have happened again?"

I nodded. I knew it was the truth. But there's a difference between knowing and feeling, isn't there? I did save Irene's life. And I could keep telling myself I wasn't feeling guilty for ruining the rest of it in the process. The real heroes, they'd've pulled it off easy. A rubbish bin over the head... I'd read that fanfiction... it never even occurred to me to do anything but run away. But then, this wasn't words on a page, was it? Words didn't chase you through the streets at psychotic speeds.

I forced a gallows smile, desperate to change the subject.

"Is this when you retire me now? After I've made my expo' speech"

"No, not here," said Sylia with ominous coolness, "It would ruin some expensive bedsheets,"

For a moment, I wasn't sure if she was joking or not, but I still gave a gentle laugh. She smiled demurely back.

"Alright then, Miss Deckard, I have some questions I'd like to ask you," she said, sitting herself down onto a chair beside the terminal computer.

"Miss Deckard... Meg Deckard," I repeated.

"Yes, your production code,"

"I know," I sighed, "I guess I'd better get used to it being my name is all,"

"Well, the name on your I.D. would not be appropriate anymore, would it?" She placed the laptop on my lap. My own Dell. "Now, we need your Harddisk password."

Right back to business.

"Alright," I assented calmly, opening the lid. Computer on, BIOS password. Harddisk Password. Boot to Linux, and wait. "I bet Nené would get a kick out of something this old," I tried to joke, but it just fell flat in the air. Sylia shot me a chilling look, and I shrunk back down into the bed.

"I didn't show it to her." Sylia said, all warmth draining from her voice. "And neither will you, or show to any of the other Sabers. Understand?"

I nodded. She was deadly serious.

The pair of us just sat there in freezing quiet, waiting for it to boot up.

When it did, we talked about myself, running through my backstory, who I was and where I came from. Why I claimed to be from 2009, but my bike's tax disk and insurance papers still read valid 'until July '03' and had someone else's name on them, sort of questions. I never thought not paying my road tax would be that important.

Next, we discussed what I knew about the Sabers themselves. I talked Sylia through each episode, as I remembered it off the top of my head. Character backgrounds on each of the Sabers and Mackie, then Mason and Quincy of GENOM, LeonMcNichol, and Doctor Stingray himself. It was the only time during our entire conversation where I saw Sylia shudder. I told her about Priss' boyfriend, about Nené's hacking of the hidden code and Linna's dancing skills.

When she asked what I knew about the hardsuits, and how they worked. All I could tell her was what they were, what a measuring suit was, and what the innerwear did. The fact that I didn't know any of the technical details about how the cybersuits actually operated mechanically, seemed to put her at ease somewhat, and the more at ease the leader of the Sabers was, the more at ease I was.

She trialled my engineering knowledge. I guess she'd found my coursenotes in the other pannier then. Despite being twenty years out of date, or more, I think I did alright. And she did admit to being impressed by some of the "creative" bodges I'd done to get that old K100 even running in the first place. If there was one thing I could do well, it was the one-shot McGyver solution, mostly from my absolute love of keeping old junk going as long as physically possible, and then some.

I got dressed, not really too bothered that I was naked in the same room as another woman... well, definitely not as bothered as I should've been. Denim Jeans, a yellow t-shirt, cheap polyester underwear, and some socks and trainers. Nothing with more than three digits in its price tag, but what could I really expect? Silk and sequins? The clothes fit fine, that's what mattered.

After that, I told Sylia about Largo, and the existence of Bubblegum Crash, despite the fact that I hadn't seen it. I quietly mentioned some fan theories about herself and what she herself might be. Sylia the prototype boomer, to Sylia the augmented human, I told her everything I'd heard around the internet and then some. I even pointed her to the old BGC RPG sourcebook I happened to have on my Laptop as a pirated .pdf.

She told me in no uncertain terms to erase it and it's theories and information. Along with the directory named 'Fanfiction' and anything else that could possibly relate to the Sabers. I didn't even try to argue with the person with access to a railgun.

We ran through some details about myself, or my body anyway. The do's and don'ts of being a Boomer. Don't get caught by the ADP. Don't get shot or stabbed because artificial blood isn't in anyway cheap, and going for a quick ramble in the moonlight wouldn't be the most helpful way to solve that problem either. She reminded me just what my body was... and just what effects I could have on real humans if I wanted to, before suggesting that it would be a very good idea to wear a decent pare of shades in public, especially around Mackie.

"The thoughts of spending the rest of my life with the entire world staring at my chest." I commented offhand.

"Welcome to our world," Remarked Sylia. "That is, if you really used to be who you said you are"

No... really... I don't think your problem is going to be of the same _scale_ as mine.

It was a long talk alright, lasting well into the early afternoon. As the shadow of the Dark Tower swept across the cityscape outside, Sylia seemed to switch between best friend and police interrogater. I couldn't tell if she truly believed everything I told her was the truth, or if she was secretely holding onto the idea that I was just some corporate pawn sent by a company interested in acquiring some superweapon technology. One moment she believed everything I'd told her, the next she was poking holes while slipping in gentle veiled threats. Any information I gave that I thought was true she didn't confirm. If I was wrong, she didn't tell me either, only giving the slightest of nods, and moving onto the next subject. I didn't know whether I was right, or wrong about things, it'd been long enough since I'd seen the series that I couldn't remember it perfectly. What I wouldn't have given to have the DvD's to hand, but Sylia had put both of them away, along with the wreck of my bike.

"Both of them?" I asked. Because I'd had four of them in the Pannier when I left.

"We have Tinsel City, Born To Kill, Moonlight Rambler and Red Eyes," Sylia eventually revealed. "The Boomer assassin escaped with the other disks. By now GENOM will have them,"

Well now, that little bombshell just made this more fucked up, didn't it? Sylia didn't seem to thrilled about it either. These episodes gave away the Sabers identity, their base at Raven's, their jobs. How long before GENOM just rolled over and squashed them? I wonder what Mason's reaction to seeing himself staring down into a pool of his own blood was?

"This," Sylia finally told me, "Is why I am going to be keeping you within arms reach,"

"Because I am familiar with the information on the other DvD's"

"Exactly,"

Well, at least I'm not going to be shot... that's always a plus.

"Now then," the white Knight continued, "Here's what we're going to do. I can arrange a job, an apartment and an identity. It won't be too comfortable, but it will be enough to live by. There will be some rules."

"I can guess." I told my feet.

"Outside this building, you do not know any member of this organisation. You do not know our clients. You do not know where we are based or who our contacts are. You will not contact any member of this organisation, except for myself, directly and finally," her expression hardened into one of solid iron, "if you betray this organisation, it will be the last thing you do, understand?"

I nodded limply, shrinking down onto the bed like a scolded puppy. Sylia was dangling the Sword of Damocles over my head. Do anything we don't like and it'll drop in a shot.

"I understand," I meekly stated. "Does this..." I swallowed a small lump, "Does this mean you believe what I'm saying?"

"No," stated Sylia, "Whether I do or don't is irrelevant. It means I believe you can be harmful to this organisation."

"Then why not just shoot me?" I blurted out another bad attempt at humour. And the Turkey wonders aloud why he hasn't been axed yet, three days before Christmas. Sylia blinked owlishly, almost offended by the suggestion.

"Because, that would make us little better than our enemies," Sylia said flatly.

Did I really have a choice in this? I had no way home. I had no identity, no qualifications anymore. Technically, I didn't even have human rights anymore. I could do this, and I could live out the rest of my days here, in Megatokyo. Nobody shooting at me, nobody hunting me, no enemies, maybe a few friends. Just a normal background life, an indistinguishable member of the herd. Safety in numbers, I could do that.

Afterwards, we worked up a few personal details, a quick cover story that would hold water and account for a few of my quirky mannerisms. I didn't behave much like a Lady. My cover also needed to account for the fact that my broken leg would be healed within a day. Sylia told me it wouldn't be more than a couple of hours before I could walk on it again.

I found I could call up the exact same estimate from my own systems.

We ran through a few potential jobs... never too far away from where one of the Sabers themselves worked... to keep an eye on me just in case, I was reassured. After all The Tower was looking for the rider who picked up Irene too. I glanced out the window at the black pyramid, the afternoon sun sparkling off the roadway spiralling up the flanks of the oppressive arcology and was suddenly struck by the most horrible sensation of being watched, like a hundred eyeballs crawling up my back like cockroaches. I shrugged it off. We went through some apartments too after that, all pretty basic 6-mat affairs. They were liveable, with cheap enough rent.

I was glad for at least having a choice, of having some semblance of control. I could choose where to make my home for the foreseeable future, where I could work, who I would be. I could choose my own lifepath here again, and for that, I was thankful.

And then, that was that.

With the sun moving towards the early evening, we were done. The ache in my leg had dulled to a gentle tingle and an empty rumble growled in my stomach. It hadn't really felt like it'd taken most of the day, but it had. 3:34:38 in the afternoon, I made it, when Sylia finally left me alone. Dinner would be at six, and by then, my leg should be healed enough that I could at least walk on it.

And tomorrow, I'd be given a city map with my chosen residence marked and directions to the nearest Maglev station.

Sylia was right about one thing, an hour or so later and I was up and walking. A little stiff but otherwise alright. 18 hours to heal a broken leg. That's kind of...well...cool actually. My stride was the most efficient for my frame, and probably pretty bloody efficient at giving passers-by nosebleeds too. The way I walked, the way I moved, all programmed to be as sexually attractive and stimulating as possible.

And boy wasn't I painfully aware of it. When I asked myself, I could see just how each little movement concatenated into one sexual whole. The way I balanced each stride with my arms, to the relaxed way I held my shoulders. I could stop, if I thought about it, but it was too much bother to do. I walked over to the window, with, watching the reflection hovering over the evening city draw near.

Red hair, brown eyes, softly tanned skin drawn over an athletically toned body. I leant forward against the double glazing, staring into those hazel brown eyes. I used to have blue eyes, I thought, taking a deep breath. They didn't seem dull and mechanical, doll-like and lifeless. Instead, they shimmered with a strange, mesmerising depth such that if you weren't careful you might fall in.

They seemed alive, the same as any other persons. It was so reassuring.

And, truth be told... it was a nice reflection to see in the mirror.

I said nothing at all during dinner, Mackie's eyes spending the whole time alternating between my chest and his plate. I found it kind of funny, even if Sylia wasn't too pleased. The food would be the best thing I'd eat for a long time though, and I knew it, what with where I'd be working and living and all. I just ducked under whatever conversation was going on between the pair. It wasn't in my language, and wasn't any of my business either... even if it sounded like it might be funny as hell.

Oh well, enjoy it while it lasts I say. Nice, well cooked food. Clean bedsheets that night too. And a proper bathroom with a hot shower. With a security camera just inside the door... Well, I shrugged, if it's there, it's there for a reason.

A good night's sleep, recharge the batteries. Tomorrow would be a long day.

-**I...I**

It was Mackie who showed me downstairs, to the front door, Sylia being busy elsewhere. With a quick Sayonara, and a direction to travel, I was free. Standing at the residential entrance to Lady633, out in the hot morning sun deep in Tinsel City. A set of keys in my pocket, some directions to a place halfway across town and a 100k Yen back balance for any necessities. I guess Sylia felt she'd be better off keeping me reasonably happy. The less money I outright needed, the less likely I'd try sell information to GENOM.

A quick guess in my head put that at somewhere between 700 and 1k Euro... which'd be enough to get by until I got paid.

I had my slightly worse for wear backpack with my laptop, my college course notes, a digital MT tourist board supplied map with autonavigator and a bottle of water. In my other pocket, a wallet with some I.D. in it, which gave my name as Megan Deckard, aged 23 along with an old mass card I'd been carrying when I crashed, and 3000 yen in cash. Enough to get where I need to go.

I stepped out on the mainstreet, standing in front of the SilkyDoll itself with my back to a lace chemise in the window that cost more than I had to my name. Well, here goes, one foot in front of the other, onto the footpath and away...

The tallest building I'd even been in in my life... before Lady633 I mean... had been the Gravity Bar back home, and that topped out at about 7 floors. On the walk to the underground station, I didn't see a single building under half that. Hundreds of people thronged around in the early morning, snatching their quick consumer fix before heading to work.

Everyone stole a glance at me as I passed. Every single pair of eyes. And I wasn't even wearing anything especially revealing, nothing but No-brand Blue jeans, a loose-fitting red t-shirt and a cheap pair of trainers. No plunging necklines or bare midriffs.

I stopped outside some clothes shop, about half a mile on, looking at my reflection in the glass. A few pale-skinned mannequins inside stared out lifelessly, dressed in sharp business suits with 5-figure pricetags. I didn't look especially noticeable, really. There were women walking passed behind me who should be attracting a damn sight more attention than I was.

To illustrate the point, there was a sharp crack from behind, of some poor hen-pecked husband being rewarded with a slap by his wife for taking too long of a look at my back. Poor guy, it was almost funny.

I looked up at the lifeless face of the mannequin, staring out at the sky. I didn't really have time for all that sci-fi, 'difference between me and a solid plastic figure' philosophising. I knew what I was. If anything, the vapid stare of the mannequin only confirmed that I was alive... My eyes had that spark in them. The Mannequin's were nothing more than glass orbs.

And on that thought, it shifted its gaze right down to me, meeting me eye to eye with that dull, lifeless stare. I yelped in fright, jumping backwards into the crowd. Shop-front dummies don't move!

Some heavy hands clamped around my body, a man's voice barking out what seemed to be a warning. I snapped around, a bolt of terror running through my body, coming face to face with a man in a dark N-Police uniform, and a rather surprised look on his face.

His first question was in Japanese... I could just blink quizzically at him. Then watch as his eyes inevitably tracked down to that same place, before snapping back up to my face.

"English?" I ventured.

"New in town?" he smiled. I placed his accent as US Boston, at a guess.

"Could say that," I sighed, trying to act as nonchalant and completely and naturally unbothered as possible. It'd be damned funny to get all of half a mile before some random copper figured out what exactly I was... and then a case of how much further before the ADP splattered what was left across the side of some building.

"Well, they're mannequins. Dumb as a plank and programmed to do nothing but stand there. They're completely harmless," the copper reassured me.

I nodded, looking back up at them. They didn't look much like Boomers at all... they still had moulding seams and everything on them. They looked like they were made of solid plastic. And then they moved again.

It was bone chillingly creepy... like staring into the depths of the uncanny valley.

"Anyway Miss," continued the cop, "Would you have any identification on you I could check?",

Shit!... Okay, I could try stun him. That'd be easy enough. I knew I could do that, but I wasn't quite sure how. And it wouldn't work with the sunglasses the copper was wearing anyway. Alright... Sylia set me up with a fake I.D... it should pass.

"Resident I.D?"

That's what I had...I think.

"You got resident without learning Japanese?" asked the cop, "I guess that's the way this town is going these days," he shrugged, "When I moved here, you couldn't even get a job without being fluent,"

The name on his uniform read Murphy. I pulled the card out of my wallet, wondering just when that picture had been taken for a moment, before handing it to the copper.

"Meg Deckard, Aged 23. D.O.B 18/05/09. Place of Residence, Taro Apartments, Yokohama City. Cybernetics: 98.2%... wow." he read the card a second time to be sure, before scanning it through some reader. " Well, you're a real ghost in the shell, aren't you? Anyway, no outstanding warrants... but that doesn't matter anyway since boomeroids ain't our problem. Drivers license shows 2 violations for speeding, otherwise no convictions."

He gave me a curious look.

"How does anybody living in Taro afford such high grade cybernetics?"

"That's why I'm living in Taro," I blurted out. "Boomer nearly killed me. Doctor's assumed consent to it. Now the payments_ are_ killing me...and maintenance,"

I gave such a fake laugh, he had to see through it.

Murphy snorted. "Well, Mk1 _Homo Sapiens_ still has its advantages then," he smiled warmly at me, "Now be safe, and Good day to you ma'am,"

"Same to you," I returned as brightly as I could, the officer placing my ID card back in my hand.

Watching him walk off on patrol, I gave the most almighty sigh of relief. The mannequins looked down on me, as if sensing I might not be the same as the other humans filing past. Their vacant expressions staring down at me, glassy, vapid and utterly lifeless. There was no soul behind them.

Automata.

I felt so superior.

I could think, I could guess, I could comprehend, I could feel, the same as any human being. You are a machine, my subconscious reminded gently. Yeah, well I'm a bloody well built one, the rest of me huffed.

"_CaCaCatch the Wave!_" a jumbo-sized television hanging on the building across the street announced to the world. The square jawed and plastic-faced Cokeologist himself grinning right back at me with three foot tall teeth. I looked up at him for a moment, plastic and artificial on a computer generated background. Black shades, Fiberglass suit., rubber blond hair.

An ADP fire-bee buzzed overhead, heading somewhere in a hurry, followed quickly by a thundering 6-wheel truck, sirens ullulating off of glass, steel and concrete.

"_It began as Genius, and Grew to be legend," _A new ad started on the jumbo-vision, swooping wireframe graphics diving towards the sleek shape of a turbine-wheeled sportscar, _"There's never been...anything... like this before."_

Oh wow...

Even in the day time, neon signs flickered over shop fronts, offering everything from electronics repair, to clothes, manga and foreign literature. Cybernetic repair shops shared a building with traditional craftsmen selling wooden furniture, and a classic computer collector's store. They had my laptop in the window, or a similar one anyway, selling for ten-times what I'd paid for it in 2008, if I made the exchange rate right. 1.50M Yen...15K Euro's.

Electric K-cars whirred past, vying for space with Bloodrunner-style bikes, a gaggle of scooters, a whining turbine powered delivery truck, and a growling gasohol Griffin sportscar. Somebody, a businesswoman in a neat grey suit hurried past with a briefcase in one hand, receiving a portable fax from her wristwatch.

Wire-headed Cyberpunks rubbed shoulders with Kimono wearing Geisha, and a hundred other cultures in one massive multi-coloured neon salad bowl. There were probably more people living in these few square kilometres, than maybe in my entire home country. The whole world was rushing past, buying, selling, living, maybe dying... and catching quick eyefuls of me if they had the goddamned time.

"_GENOM Automotive, Taking Charge.."_ the Jumbovision finished, cycling forward to an ad for Green Foods.

There was more energy here, more movement than I had ever experienced in my life. It was stunning, it was thrilling... it was _the future_ and I was in it. I was a _part_ of it. Mingling with the smoke and the dust and the sound of it all, feeling it flow through me. Sights, sounds, smells… even the feel of the concrete walls.

My God what a city.

A heaving mass of bright colours, big hair and boxy-technology. That 1980's aesthetic was in vogue and it showed. Bright, vibrant and moving forward on a new wave. It was so different to my home. Crowded, pulsating with the essence of life and progress.

Here I am, in Megatokyo, 2032.

Y'know, I think I might enjoy living here.

-**I...I**.

-Dartz


	2. Midnight Express

_Yours Truly, 2032_

Yet another BubbleGum Crisis SI, in the traditional form

Bubblegum Crisis...(c) Artmic/Youmix.

I'm just borrowing this for a while, for some Fair Deal fun.

Mmmkay?

2: _Midnight Express_

**I...I**

The Maglev wasn't too crowded, and for that I was thankful. 12:27:45 on a Friday afternoon was empty-time for any form of public transport anywhere on Earth. Some things just didn't change, did they? The smell of ozone and sweat drifted through the carriage, the roar of the air pinned between the carriage walls and the tunnel beating against the ears. No delays, no hold ups, no complication. The Maglev sped me towards my new home.

Well, here I was.

Some old lady was staring at me from across the carriage, probably wondering where her youth had gone and how long ago it had gone there.

To think, I actually got to meet the Knight Sabers... how awesome was that? I'd probably never see them again…outside of a newspaper or wherever they showed up…but it was still kind of cool. The idea that such larger than life people could exist...even if it was in an entirely different universe. Well, I wouldn't be one of them.

The old woman got off about three stops before I had to, giving me the dirtiest look imaginable before she did. It was like I'd eaten her baby or something. What was her problem? I wondered to myself. Could she tell what I was? No, definitely not, I reassured myself. You're just being paranoid. Really. There were only two ways to detect me as a boomer, and not just an over-cyberised human being. None of them could be performed without special equipment and both of them would kill me to do. I was safe, so long as I didn't attract too much attention.

Perfectly safe.

Even if the pheromones I was giving off told the entire world that I was ready and willing to copulate. Even if I could sense the burning hormonal attraction between two teenagers, the chilled desires of a single old man, or that the stone-faced businessman who sat down opposite me just wasn't giving the right signals for a male at all.

The information was there if I wanted it. I could tell who'd gotten some last night, and who hadn't for the last month. Who'd had a date with Rosie palms, or who was so stressed they couldn't even get started. It was a sixth sense. Humans do have it, but aren't conscious of it the way I was, so describing it is like describing colour to a blind man. People broadcast their mood through chemical signals I could smell. Passion was hot, and loneliness cold and wet. Desperation burned and stress flared at a high pitch, fear frigid and almost ferrous. And I could control my own signals enough to project whatever aura I wanted. I just couldn't turn it off. The default minimum was relaxed, and available for sex.

Off the train at what seemed like the right stop… the symbols matched anyway….I filtered through the milling crowds noticing that the railway police never even glanced at me…not once. Boomers themselves, I wondered? Possibly, it was hard to tell for sure. I didn't want to stick around and find out for certain. Knowing what side of the law I was on if discovered, the less excuse I gave anyone in uniform to ask a question the better. Even if the closest I'd ever been to being an actual fugitive from the law had been that Harrison Ford film.

I left the station, stopping for a sugar filled coffee on the way before stepping out into the midday sun. My God this was a hot city, the concrete and glass reflecting and radiating heat into the streets. In the still air it was a dead heat leeching energy from the body in litres of sweat. Dust and diesel smog clung to the ground, pressed down like everything else in town by the same oppressive heat.

I slogged on following the path marked on the navigator.

The crowds in Yokohama were thinner, the roads quieter. Everyone and their mother was probably somewhere in the city centre, working. And the majority of them lot were probably servants of the Dark Tower itself, still looming behind me kilometres away. I wonder what Mason was making of his death?

I tried to put it and the passing stares of strangers out of my mind.

Eventually, I made it out to my new home, one of a hundred or so identikit grey apartment blocks laid out in a gridiron. A little red dot on the map marked the spot to within about 4 inches. I took a deep breath, and pushed open what should've been an automatic gate. The whole lot was a post-quake construction originally intended to house some of the millions of displaced persons whose homes had been destroyed. Now, with cheap rent and supposedly decent facilities, they'd become the first home of many of MT's newest arrivals, which now included myself,

Alright, I have to find the landlords office. Landlords office?... Where's the Landlords office? There was a sign bolted to the building wall.

_Welcome to Taro Residential Apartments.  
Building 214k numbers 0001 through 1100  
Comfort Type-1.  
TIEC Block A.  
Sponsored by MT Economic Development Council_

Which I'd learn was pretty much a synonym for GENOM. Not that it mattered really. People migrating to the world's most prosperous city had to live somewhere, and better a decent set of decently maintained apartments than a Mumbai-style slum. I found the office after a few minutes chasing my tail between bilingual signs, reversed signs and missing signs, through the same grey concrete alleyways between and through the buildings. They seemed clean enough, well maintained enough, there weren't any obvious signs of drug-taking or anything like that. No discarded needles or heroin wraps, no smell of piss near the lifts, no rubbish left lying around, little or no graffiti even… except for someone named _Bango Skank__._ Compared to most government housing schemes worldwide, this place actually seemed reasonably well maintained.

Mrs Saotome Akane, an old pot-bellied woman who barely reached my shoulder, was already waiting for me in her office. I felt sorry for her having a name like that. She harrumphed at the amount of foreigners moving in with not a single word of Japanese, then started complaining about how they were bludgeoning the natives into non-existence, before rambling on about her own childhood in old Tokyo.

"I remember when I was young once," she kept saying, as she led me up the concrete stairs to my new life. "Had a body much like yours too. Fit, young, healthy….. I loved sports. Do you practice?"

"Nope," I answered completely uncaring

"You have a body like you do," she said, "I remember when I was that young…"

She led me to a steel door, number 847, up on the eighth floor of ten, about halfway along an open-air walkway that looked across a concrete basketball court onto the opposite building, number 213k.

"Well here we are." Akane said sighing, and fair play to her despite her age the climb up the stairs barely seemed to have bothered her. "Rent is on Thursdays, burnable rubbish Tuesdays, recyclable rubbish Wednesdays. Electricity is read monthly. No boomers allowed of any sort…" well, that made me feel better, "and one more thing, Try running a brothel, and I'll have the police in here in a shot,"

I blinked through a flash of anger,

"I'm not a prostitute," I stated, glaring daggers at her.

The poor old lady blushed with shame,

"I apologise," she bowed, "But it's happened before. Young lady just like yourself,"

I just groaned. The worst part of being a sexaroid, was the 'sex' part. I'd been walking out in public for all of two goddamned hours, and I'd figured it out. Nobody touched me, not a single hand was laid on my body, but they didn't have to. Their eyes said it all…..

"You know where the office is if you have any trouble. Welcome to Taro,"

She forced a smile as she dropped the keys into my hand.

I answered with a sour "Arigato,"

"Well, at least that's more Japanese than most residents here know," Akane remarked as she left.

So there was the door, and here I had the keys. The lock was stiff, the hinges stiffer, a blast of heat rushed out to welcome me home. I stepped inside a little shocked at the silence that greeted me before pulling the door shut with a hard metallic _clang_. Like a prison cell…. I nearly tripped over a low step just past the threshold. It was still achingly quiet.

"Well, here I am,"

I was answered by the solitary fridge motor clicking on. I glanced down at it. _GENOM Household Appliances,_ printed in friendly black letters across the top of the door. The same with the cooker, with the dishwasher and sink, and the simple CRT-look-alike TV in the living area; all were manufactured by GENOM. I could even see the Tower out the window, if I looked. It was about 20 miles away. GENOM was omnipresent. It was on the train, in my apartment, in my head even.

At least the apartment itself was half decent. Just inside the door there was a small kitchenette with cooker, microwave, fridge-freezer and dishwasher, along with some cheap and basic chipboard cupboards dressed up in a veneer that actually made them look more cheap and tacky than they would've been otherwise. The floor was a polished hardwood…or at least that's what it looked like. It was probably just a cheap chipboard knockoff hiding behind another printed veneer. To the left, just past the kitchen, another door slid open to reveal a small shower/WC. Beside that, what I thought was a bedroom was actually just a hot-press, with a hot water tank, heating and air-con controls, and space for some towels.

The living area was a little bit larger than my old bedroom, but not by much. It had space for a television, another worktop, some bare shelving and a couch, which I quickly guessed was hiding a fold-out bed in the wall behind.

6-mat apartment alright.

You couldn't swing a kitten in here, let alone a bloody cat. It was home for the foreseeable future. Yup…. Home….On my own. Without even my dog for company any more.

I sighed, walked up to the window, watching my reflection draw near. The Tower loomed between the reflections of my hazel eyes, a few strands of rusty hair hanging across my brow. I stared hard into my eyes for a moment; looking for something….I wasn't sure what exactly. I blinked, calling the staring contest with my reflection a draw for now.

"Frakkin' Cylon," I snarled, drawing my best impression of Colonel Tigh.

For some reason, that was funny as hell.

**I...I**

MegaTokyo was _huge_.

A seemingly endless mass skyscrapers, warehouses, apartment blocks, concrete overpasses and grimy back alleys receded into an afternoon's dust and smog. Glass, steel, concrete and tarmac, flickering neon lights and cold blue streetlamps, mixed with crumbling 20th century towers, overcrowded and in bad need of repair, standing alongside the forgotten skeletons of half-finished tomorrows, left gaunt and rusting as whatever flame of initiative propelled their construction guttered and died, smothered by accelerating progress and planned obsolescence. It was the apotheosis of urbanisation, a technological God among cities.

I spent the Saturday browsing through the city, trying and failing miserably to get halfway used to it all. It was oppressively overwhelming. The press of hurrying crowds dragging me along streets, the summer heat sucking the energy out of my body. 6 million people a day passed through Shibuya maglev station alone, if I read the statistics right. That was more than the total amount of people living in my home country. The sheer scale of the city, it was mind-boggling. If you stopped long enough to think about it, your brain would melt and run out your ears trying to comprehend it all, or you'd get trampled under the heel of surging crowds of hurried salarymen too concerned with getting work on time to notice they were crushing someone underfoot.

It was intense, it was thrilling, it was terrifying. Daytime Akihabara was a riot of pulsing electronica, neon, noise and cybernetic style, afternoon sun glinting off of polished chrome implants. There was a shop called _Ghost in the Shop_… they named it after the manga… selling high grade cybernetic repair parts. Holy fucking Christ... these people knew they were living in a sci-fi world, and had enough sense to hang a lampshade on the fact. Yesterday's sci-fi was tomorrows retail, was next-Thursdays obsolete heap of junk. Anything and everything was for sale, it was only a matter of how much you wanted to pay for.

The only way to get through it all was to focus on your destination, proceed directly towards your goal, with the exclusion of all else, before the city's sirens lured you to your starving doom among labyrinthine backstreets of arcades, comic-cafés, 'special interest' doujin sellers, and budget electronics. I thought I even saw Knight Saber garage kits somewhere.

And in the middle of it all, surrounded by a million people surging forward and back in one chaotic rabbling mass, I was alone. I never felt smaller, or more insignificant. Just one isolated grain of black volcanic sand in a shifting white coral beach a mile long. I picked up some 'Japanese for idiots' language tapes from somewhere, along with the basics of living such as food, clothes, a decent HGD player, and what looked like a half decent history book telling the story of the last thirty years or so.

I'd expected clothes shopping to be a hilariously nightmarish tangle of psychosexual conflicts and staring eyes, but it wasn't. I wandered in to some budget department store, a thousand eyes following me the whole way. I picked out some budget underwear…I could call up my sizes from my specifications…without even blushing, followed by a few pairs of jeans, some conservative t-shirts then another jacket or two. I tried them on in the dressing rooms, giving the figure in the full length mirror a gentle smile while I did so.

At least I could understand why people were staring. I wasn't over-endowed to the point of being top heavy across the chest, nor pear shaped about the hips. I wasn't toned to the point where my body's curves had been burned off, and neither was I so out of proportion that I looked like a cheap piece of fanservice with a stick-like waist. I was 'just right'.

In physics and engineering, there's the concept of an 'ideal' system, the perfect system. It was a system on paper which could never exist in the real world, use to demonstrate the pure mathematical concepts of what that system should be. I had an 'ideal' body, one that no real flesh and blood woman would ever have. I demonstrated the pure, idealised concept of what the perfect woman's body should be. Every single curve was mathematically precise to the smallest fraction of a radian. I was neatly balanced, exactly in proportion and honed to scientifically verifiable sexual perfection.

I looked 'healthy', rather than tending towards an extreme.

In isolation, on my own… standing in a harsh white little cubicle making sure a hip-hugging pair of no-brand jeans didn't hug too tightly, it was almost thrilling. It felt great to be fit, to be able to sprint the length of a city block, rattle off over a hundred push-ups without running out of breath, or wake up in the morning without any cramps in my knees.

And when I stepped outside my apartment, everyone was staring at me, snatching glimpses as I walked past. My confidence melted away like an ice cube in an oven. It was a curse, it really was. If you saw me, you'd remember me, you'd remember my eyes, my face, even the way I walked. Despite trying to be as anonymous as inhumanely possible, I stood out in a crowd like a Trekkie at a Star Wars convention, and I'll be damned if I didn't feel the same way as that hypothetical redshirt. I felt like I was the whole world's target; everyone was gunning for me, searching for me. I was conscious of everything I was doing, how I walked, how I moved, how my hips swayed with each stride, how if maybe I made the briefest eye contact with someone, they might think I was trying to talk to them, ask them out, or that I wanted to be dragged into some back alley and used as the manufacturer intended.

And that did terrify me. Because I knew I'd do it, then walk away completely unbothered by the fact. It'd be no different to breathing. I mean, who'd want a sex toy which got depressed each time you used it? It was disturbing, some of what I knew I was capable of. If I gave it too much thought, I could feel bile rising up the back of my throat. And the more I tried to push it to the back of my mind, the more it was dragged forward again by some otherwise innocent passer-by catching a quick glance at my backside, or some bastard on the train that slipped a hand up between my legs. I screamed, drawing dark looks from an entire carriage, because there's one thing the locals hate, and that's somebody who makes an unnecessary fuss.

God damn it if I didn't want to just find a nice quite dark place to hide for the rest of my life, a nice little black hole of solitude to swallow me up. It was infuriating, it was frustrating, holy Christ I was nearly crying over it. I didn't come out of that changing room until somebody knocked on the door. I dreaded the journey back to the apartment on a crowded evening train, but I couldn't exactly stay in the city overnight, could I?

It was something I'd have to get used to.

I can deal with this…. I can live with it. I can put my own t-shirt back on, walk out that door, pay for this stuff, then get back to Taro. And maybe find a way to work this to my advantage, and get a couple of yen off of the price of a decent pair of boots.

Yes! I steeled myself, stepping into the world once more from my changing room prison.

A few women piped up, complaining about being left waiting maybe, commenting on how I was _so _much fitter than they were, or how I was a complete and total slut. Or probably all three at the same time. I shot an angry glare back at them, fixing the tallest one, a taut brunette with more clothes under her arms than cash in her purse probably, with a withering gaze. Our eyes locked momentarily, and I knew exactly what I was going to do, before I'd even thought I could do it. I felt a strange static charge rushed through my body, and watched her shudder and cross her legs, a shameful blush slowly forming across her cheeks as she crossed her legs, right before her eyes glazed over and she dropped limply to the ground, folding up on herself like an empty sack of spuds.

"Naoko!" the stockier of the women shrieked, catching her friend before her skull cracked open on the hard wearing carpet.

Mind darting between smug satisfaction, and the absolute terror that somebody might realised that I'd done it, I suppressed the overwhelming urge to drop into a fit of giggles instead, quietly slinking over to another side of the shop, hiding from the growing commotion over by the dressing rooms as shop security tried to figure out what to do about the fainted woman, while everyone else just crowded around for a closer look.

Was anyone looking at me? I wondered, a nervous paranoia taking over.

Security cameras?

None that I could see.

Guards?

More concerned with the unconscious brunette.

Shoppers?

Well... no more than they normally did.

I stood there, trying to pick nonchalantly through a rack of sunglasses, fear-fuelled adrenaline sending shivers through my body. It'd only take one person paying close attention to notice what I'd done, one person to shout. There'd be gunfire, there'd be police and there'd be a note in the paper tomorrow about rogue sex-boomers 'hiding amongst us regular people'. Of course, I wouldn't be alive to read it by that stage, the local constabulary would see to that. I snatched a yellow-tinted pair of sunglasses off the rack, quickly concluding that it would be best if I just paid for this stuff, got out of the shop and did my best to merge with the crowds on the way home. Whispers of fear circled me as I stood in the queue.

Where they talking about me?

I really couldn't tell. They might've been. They might've been complaining about the price of silk panties for all I knew. Maybe if I spoke Japanese, it'd be better. At least I'd know what they were saying about me. They could just be complementing my figure, or they could be waiting for the best time to call security. I groaned inwardly, cursing under my breath as the unconscious brunette was carried into the back of the store on a stretcher. I wonder if she realised what I did before she dropped.

I swallowed my fears as the 'woman' behind the checkout called up for the next customer.

She was a boomer... a cheap one...red eyes vapid and glassy like a cheap doll, the same empty eyes as the mannequins that had scared me half to death the day before Her voice was soft, polite, and disturbingly computerised with an electronic echo, her skin pallid and porcelain-like, her hair black with an almost plastic sheen. She fixed me with her blank, dead eyes the entire time, smiling an empty, senseless smile. The boomers lips were pursed and small, formed into a demure pout, her hands working automatically as she scanned item after item in. And what was it really that differentiated me from this plainly obvious 'thing', squatting right in the depths of the uncanny valley? I questioned privately.

What exactly was inside that steel skull of hers, and just how different was it compared to the wetware between my ears?

She kept smiling as the cash register ran up the total, announcing it in the same inhuman monotone as I'd announced my system specs that first night. Chillingly, it made me wonder if the two of us were closer together than I thought. The number of red LED zeroes on the cash register snapped me back to the present. I baulked at the total for a moment, before realising that, of course, the total was in Yen. I hated that. I hated that poxy plastic robot behind the bloody desk too... still staring at me, patiently waiting.

No, I am nothing like you.

I still gave a polite smile as I handed what I thought was my bank card over to her. She scanned it... scanned it again when it didn't work, checked something on her keyboard, all with that same impassively happy visage, before the payment ran through with a happy digital chirp from the till.

"Arigato," it intoned, handing my card back to me, before efficiently and neatly packing everything away. She said something else, still smiling stupidly after me, probably a "Thank you, come again," but I didn't care, I was halfway out the front door and praying the metal parts inside didn't somehow set the door alarms off. I didn't, thankfully.

Out into the hot street again, I swallowed my fears and tried to merge with the heaving crowds. This would've been a great deal easier if everyone didn't stop to take a bloody glance at me. I had to get away from the crowds somehow... get to the apartment, duck out into a side-street, maybe try a reasonably empty restaurant and get a quick meal. Yeah, I'll feel better with a bit of food in me. A quiet café seemed to fit the bill alright. It was small, pretty empty, and otherwise unremarkable inside, except for the mouth-watering smell of freshly baked bread.

The only customer, an Office Lady, glanced up from her laptop at me as I walked past her, before I quietly took a seat in a dim corner beneath a painting of old Tokyo Tower, remembering Wild Bill Hickok. Nobody was going to sneak up behind me now, and I could see the whole café. A boomer waitress, almost the same model as before, took my order. A little unsteady on her feet perhaps thanks to a stabiliser problem, but she had that same plastic visage, that same happy monotone. She had a simple English language pack installed, so I could understand her, but I still hated her so much nonetheless. She wore a simple, loose fitting t-shirt and skirt, the same as the other two boomers running the place. There was one, the exact same model except for her platinum blonde hair, standing bolt upright behind the cash register. Another one was quietly mopping the floor just outside the kitchen door.

My hand was shaking as I ate, but I still loved that surge of energy through the body after eating. Starchy foods like rice were best, but any sort of carbohydrate would do for basic power and energy, with proteins and metallic elements keeping me in good physical condition. My body couldn't store fats like a normal human, and I knew I had to keep an eye on the electrolytic qualities of my blood, since it didn't just transport oxygen, but also electric power to some electro-mechanical subsystems.

Compared to the waitresses, whose only biological parts were probably a few biochips inside their heads, I was maybe a hundred times more complex. I was a full feature Core2Duo, compared to the basic i486 running the till.

Yeah, I thought bitterly, I was some piece of work alright.

I'd starve to death in about four days if I wasn't careful, while the machine behind the till would just power down when its batteries ran out, and stay that way until somebody recharged it. An electric shock would play havoc with my internal systems, but would just ground itself out through her metal chassis. And that's not even talking about that unique design flaw common to all 33-s, how the auto-repair system depends on the circulation systems to do it's job, and vice-versa. Lose too much blood, and I lose the ability to recover what I've lost. PFC's aren't that easy to synthesise. The machine behind the counter, could carry on with both arms missing and litres of vital fluids spraying across the floor, a regular human even, like the Office Lady politely paying for her meal, could lose about a litre of blood before it started to affect her. My problems would be getting serious at that point.

That and it was bloody annoying when grains of rice got stuck in my hollow canines. They were a stop-gap kludge of a system for an emergency Dracula-style refill but instead they always ended up getting gummed up with whatever I happened to be eating at the time. It was such a pain in the teeth to pick things out of there after a meal.

Funny that. I could heal a broken leg in under a day, but still be floored by certain kinds of injuries the Mark 1 _Homo Sapiens_ would shrug off. On the other hand, I could repair wounds in a day that would have a person in recovery for a week, given power and materials.

Well, I had to take the good with the bad, I guess. At least coffee still tasted half-decent, even if the cookbot lurking in the kitchen burnt it by pouring boiling water into the pot on top of the coffee, instead of just warm water, but some weird people liked it that way I guess. At least when the Office Lady had left, it was just myself and the other boomers, quietly and efficiently running through their tasks while I ate. The food wasn't anything special, just a chicken curry that was a little underspiced, but it filled a hole, and gave me time to settle my head.

One good thing about the brainless basic models, they didn't stare at me.

I stood up, walked to the till, and paid. They smiled, they gazed, but they didn't _stare. _There wasn't any feeling of them actively _looking_ at you, and comprehending what you were, beyond a customer to be served. If it had any inkling about whether I was a boomer or not, it didn't care. The silver-haired one behind the till took my money with artificial gratitude, before politely asking that I come back soon.

I still hated her, and I wondered why as I left.

All jokes about frakking toasters aside, there was something extremely disturbing about those mannequin types, and it wasn't just the uncanny valley. It nestled inside my head. And it wasn't that they reminded me about what I was.

As much as I didn't really want to be, I was okay with that. Even on my own, I knew perfectly well what I was.

Maybe, it was that these dolls... Well... Was I really that different from them? Just what where the differences in the brains ticking inside their skulls and mine? Why was I able to think? Why did I have my own self-identity, and they weren't anything more than automatons.

Could it be? That their very existence suggested that I was the same? Just an automaton?

I tried to shake it off... tried to tell myself that it was the most goddamned clichéd and stupid thing to be worried about. I mean, the mere fact that I'm able to be worried about being nothing more than a programmed machine acting out subroutine dictated responses proved I wasn't, right?

I'm no philosopher... and I didn't want to be. It seemed too much like a headache. But something about those mannequins still bothered me. They were only programs, nothing more. Was I nothing more than a more complicated program?

Fuck that.

I stood outside the café, and I wanted nothing more than to march right back in there, and scream "I am nothing fucking like you!" in the face of the unfortunate android behind the till. And then just get even more pissed off at the confused stare it would probably give me, as it tried to figure out just why I was shouting at it. Funny thing was, even I wasn't quite sure of that

A pair of coppers brushed past me, chatting away to themselves; faces hidden by their visors. I watched them walk right passed the till-boomer, who welcomed them with the same artificial warmth, while they sat themselves down at a table by the window, waiting for the waitress to take their orders.

Well, I thought ruefully, there was _one_ thing I had in common with it, or her, or whatever... and that was the response from the police if I broke any laws.

The crowds outside where staring at me... as usual.

"Just fuck off!" I screamed at them.

A few seemed shocked at the idea of one so beautiful, having a mouth so foul, gawping like idiots for a moment, as if somebody swearing at you in English was some sort of cardinal sin, before joining the rest in hurrying along away from the pissed off redhead.

Man that felt good.

I glanced over my shoulder at the cops sitting in the café, another clench of fear tightening in my stomach. They were looking at me. Stupid things like that will get you shot! My mind chastised. Well, it didn't matter how stupid it was, it felt good. It felt strong, it felt powerful.

Even if I hurried off away from the police, just in case.

15:24:35, according to my internal clock.

Best get back to the apartment before the evening rush. It was bad enough having a train full of people snatching glances at me. If it got crowded enough that they started touching off me, then they might start _touching_ me.

MegaTokyo's maglev trains were smooth, fast and efficient and reeked of ozone, sweat and disinfectant. They weren't really different to the trains I knew at home, the parts above the magnetic motors anyway. The seats were always full, and the hand-bars always seemed greasy, despite the trains being meticulously clean, and they lurched horribly going around corners. Unlike the trains I knew, MegaTokyo's metro system was punctual to the second. The metro map itself was so complicated, it looked more like a child had been let loose with a box of crayons and they'd built the system to match, but I could figure it out.

It took me an hour to get to Taro, changing twice on the way.

An hours journey by train, and I was still in the city. An hour's journey back home would bring you halfway across the country, and it the trains wouldn't be travelling that much faster. I marched up the same concrete stairs as the day before, taking the same left on the 8th floor. On the building across, I watched some kids chasing each other with plastic toy lasers, screaming at each other in two languages.

Apartment 847, home again. With that same heavy door, that same oil-starved squeak from the hinges and a rush of heat as the door opened.

"I'm home," I announced.

Silence answered.

I sighed... What else was I expecting? Honestly? My dog to come running again, the same way he always did?

Suddenly feeling impossibly exhausted, I dropped my shopping bags on the floor, the HGD player flopping over in its box. I reached up, and pulled down the fold-out bed before throwing myself onto it. The springs squeaked as my breasts bounced a little sorely, and I stared up at the concrete ceiling for a few short seconds.

Home...

Well, I guess this was it for the rest of my life. My _real_ home was probably long demolished. My parents might still be alive, and I should've been in my early 40's. My dog was probably dead. And maybe, none of this mattered a god-damned bit, since they might not even have ever existed here in the first. I glanced out the window, at a small patch of blue sky.

Yeah, here I am.

My bra was itching, so I scratched myself and then turned on the TV. Later I'd have a shower, then get something to eat, but right then, I wanted nothing more than to just lie there and rest on the bedsheets.

That's it, I'm staying in tomorrow.

"_This is the BBC World Service. News on the Hour..." _began the television.

It was the only decent English language TV service in the city. Funny, they were still talking about the recriminations and reparations after a USSD particle laser blew Aqua City sky high a month ago, but nobody was mentioning the second blast I knew had to have happened three nights ago, when I first crashed into town.

That was how _Born to Kill _ended, right?

Did it even happen?

Well, that's not my problem anymore.

**I...I**

I spent Sunday lounging around in nothing more than a loose fitting t-shirt and panties.

It was a good day, my favourite so far.

And my yellow sunglasses made me look a little like Yoko Littner, with shorter hair, and a healthier waistline. That, I didn't mind at all. I just needed a flamed bikini, shorts shorter than a pair of boycuts, knee-high boots and a sniper rifle longer than I was tall. That and four times as much hair.

**I...I**

Monday was work day.

sleep 28800 && cat vmlinuz /dev/audio

One command which turned my laptop computer in to a perfectly acceptable, if slightly terrifying alarm clock. The shrieks of the damned themselves burning in hell would certainly wake somebody up, and the infernal machinations of the Linux kernel blasting from a laptop speaker certainly did a good impression of hell itself.

And I felt a good deal better about using that instead of my own internal alarm.

I couldn't ctrl-c that as easily and roll over for another hour's snooze for one thing. Sleep was good, sleep let me forget the world outside and drift off in dreamland. Sleep gave my internal systems time to recover after a days hard use.

8:20:27

I had to be at work by 14:00 dead.

It took an hour to get to the city centre, so I had to be out of here by 12:30, at the latest. Plenty of time. It wasn't like I was in a rush to get outside again, was I? Lying here in my underwear, sandwiched between hot bedsheets, curled up into myself with my chin resting against my breasts, it was bliss.

I blinked.

The time was now 10:47:12

Shit.

The only thing that changed in 2 hours was the position of the sun. No... I am not getting up!. I am not going outside! I will not be stared at! I had money... I could stay here safe from the world and it's perversions behind my four walls. Being a sexaroid for four days was a brilliant way to start developing agoraphobia.

But, I'd spent three quarters of Sylia's kickstart cash on Saturday... and that was just on the essentials. Alright, I needed to get money. And that meant working. And _that_ meant going outside. There was no way I could earn money lying in this bed now, was there?

Yes, there was, another voice reminded. I did have other 'marketable skills', didn't I?

Squicked by the thoughts of it, I crawled out of bed, not bothering to even push it back up into the wall. If I wanted to eat, I had to work. If I had to work, I had to go outside. Maybe I will get used to it in time. A hot shower beckoned, followed by a basic cereal breakfast, and then something to fill the next hour or so before I had to go.

Hot water and body shampoo did wonders for the spirit. So did spending careful minutes properly massaging and lathering every nook and cranny, making sure they were spotlessly clean. So did working out every little tangle in my hair with a fine toothed come. Clean, clear, dripping wet, and naked as that day I left the factory, with nobody to watch me, I felt free.

I lounged around in my underwear while getting something to eat first, before finally resigning myself to the fact that I had to put some clothes on at least. As comfortable as it was to lay back on my bed wearing only a t-shirt and panties, watching TV with a cereal bowl between my crossed legs, I couldn't exactly get on the train in my underwear, could I?

I spent the last half hour of my solitary freedom figuring out the laces on my new workboots, with proper steel toe. It's impossible to overstate just how much I fucking hate trainers. Boots are made for walking, boots are made for wearing for hours on end, boots had better ankle support and they were a great deal more comfortable. That, and they added a bit of force to my stride, a bit of confidence. The yellow-tint sunglasses completed the effect.

Jeans, jacket, T-shirt, money, backpack with 20 year old laptop and the front door keys, 12:22:53 according to the clock in my head... alright, here we go.

Funny... either I was starting get acclimatised to the fact that the world and it's mother was staring at me, or less people were taking an interest. A lot of people still did, but most times it was nothing more than a passing glance, a mere acknowledgement of my presence before they moved on. Maybe it was the Monday morning blues hanging over everyone's head?

The train was pretty empty mind.

Or, I wondered, remembering a little tidbit of advice Sylia had given me, was it the sunglasses? How in the name of God could it be the sunglasses, they didn't cover my butt, did they? I took them off for a moment, looking at my gold-tinted reflection looking back at me.

I put them back on, pushing the up on the bridge of my nose, before checking my reflection in the window to my left.

With a denim jacket, yellow sunglasses, rusty hair and a wry smile, Meg Deckard was a very 'interesting' looking person. If I'd met her a week or so ago, I'd've ached for her, before quietly leaving without ever saying a word about it. I flicked the shades up to my forehead for a moment, giving myself a playful wink... just because... Somehow, it did wonders for my self confidence.

I picked my way out of some back-end station in District 3, hauling myself up to the surface and into the sun once more. My confidence was running high, people were paying less attention to me, the city was still hot and the traffic was still hell... I had my navigator, I had my destination. I _can_ do this.

It was the sunglasses God knows how exactly, but it really was. It was like they came with some sort of personal forcefield, trapping me in my own private out-of-phase universe. Nobody really saw me, and somehow, I wasn't as bothered by those that did. The numbers fell beneath the magic threshold line that separated tolerable from irritating as fuck. Until somebody in a blacked out saloon thought it a bloody good idea to beep me and cheer as I walked passed.

"Idiot," I muttered, cracks forming in my good mood.

Some ADP took a glance at me as I walked past, before carrying on to whatever the Japanese police equivalent of a doughnut shop was. A nervous thrill ran up my spine, but I ignored it.

Two right turns and a left, and I found my place of employment at 13:37:42, right where it had been marked on the map.

Sylia had offered a choice of three places, either near where the Sabers worked, or somewhere they went often enough. There was a secretarial job at Phoebe's gym, a position as a waitress at a café not far from ADP headquarters, and one final job, the only one I actually had personal experience in doing.

My navigator lead me down a side-street, under a rusting fire-escape, to the front door of the _Hot Legs_. The sign outside was off, The bricks were dirty, and the poster outside announced that tonight's band was some zebra-trousered crowd called _Electric Sheep._

Nice one.

I knocked on the metal door. The sign said 'closed' but it pushed open anyway.

Inside, was red-lit and dark, daunting, strangely cold and smelling of stale cigarettes and beer. There was a short corridor, lined with dimly lit posters. Priss was there, _THE Priss,_ wailing like a banshee in a blonde wig big enough to be a small tree. _Galaxy Ranger_. … Predictably wore over the top helmets coupled with what looked like western gear. _Metronome_ on the other hand, were pretty ordinary, 3 guys, 1 girl, 2 guitars 1 synth, 1 stack of drums.

I took off my sunglasses, folding them and hanging them off my breast pocket.

"Hello!" I called, passing a lone wooden stool and table, empty but normally the place where one of the doormen would sit. I glanced up at a surveillance camera, red LED eye staring monotonically back at me

Another door, this one cushioned and buttoned in dark velour. Something about it reminded me of a horrible strip-club back home, and a night during rag-week 2006 that I'd thought I'd long drowned in alcohol. I pushed it open and stepped into the bar area. The lights were up, almost uncomfortably bright. Dazzled for a second, I blinked a few times to clear my eyes. On my left, a short varnished bar running along a brown painted wall, glasses and spirit bottles sparkling and glinting in the harsh white light. I watched my distorted reflections walk past in the polished brasswork of the beer taps.

The air was clear and cool, the bar empty for the afternoon. The ventilation system worked in here well enough alright. A few tables were scattered up against a painted steel railing, chairs stored inverted on top, a little red lamp marking the centre of the circle. The bar area itself was up on a mezzanine just below the level of the stage lights. I looked out across, at the empty wood-panelled stage, curtains open with equipment stashed and stored haphazardly behind. The dance floor, 20 feet below had a hard plastic sheen to it, I could see my distorted shadow looking back up at me when I leaned over the railing.

"Anyone!" I called out, my voice coming back fractions of a second later with a power that surprised me.

A voice shouted back from somewhere backstage. It sounded annoyed.

"Deckard!" I shouted my name "Meg Deckard!"

Silence.

"English?" the reply came back. "You speak English?"

"Yeah!"

" New bar Girl?"

"Yeah!" I said again, "Start today I was told,"

More silence, shattered suddenly by the crash of something metal hitting a concrete floor _hard._ It send a shock through my spine as the metallic ring died in the air. I fidgeted with my backpack straps, they were rubbing annoyingly against my boobs.

Had somebody just been murdered?

"Don't be daft," I told myself, as a head popped up over the back of the stage.

I heard a voice barking orders at someone unseen, a voice that sounded like a Kamikaze pilot ordering his enemies to die. The Japanese language was unique that way.

Well, this was going to be interesting alright, I thought watching my future boss cross the floor, and climb the stairs.

"_Gaijin,"_ he addressed me gruffly. "Don't normally hire them without any language experience, but a certain lady insisted, and you never say no to your landlord, Nakamura Kentaro , but everyone calls me Ken,"

Ken, was on the greyer side of 70, about 5 foot 2 and falling, with thin arctic hair, and thin, leatherlike skin drawn across sharp cheekbones bone. He was an old man, who might once have been a razor in his youth, but despite having dulled somewhat with age, there was still a hard sharpness behind those grey did he remind me of Clint Eastwood? I could sense his coolness, his maturity and it reassured me no end.

"Meg Deckard," I offered him my right hand.

A look of surprise passed across the old man's features, and he took my hand limply in his own. I watched his eyes run the length of my body, and I just sighed internally. He was inspecting me, the way a butcher inspects a piece of meat before the chop

"She said you were something special, and baby, she wasn't lying was she?"

Baby?... Bloody brilliant. And why did he speak English like he was from Texas?

"I try," I demurred.

No, I didn't try at... but it paid to be polite to the person who's going to be paying your wages.

"Anyway, no time for pleasantries. I'll give you the tour then we have to get the place ready to open by 4 o'clock,"

Straight to the point, like a bullet. What was the old Chinese curse again? May you live in interesting times? This job was going to be very interesting alright...

The first place he led me was the backstage area, which was actually right under the stage, built out of an old subway tunnel that had been broken into. There were dressing rooms for the bands, for the singers, for the staff and for _The PRISS._ The brass sign hung at an awkward slant, one of the bolts having fallen out.

"That'll be gone shortly," he commented, rapping on the door. "Blowing off shows on short notice whenever she feels like it, leaving me in the lurch with hundreds of angry customers, demanding their money back," he rolled his eyes to the heavens, before cutting right back to me fixing me with his eyes again, "Say, you got any other useful _skills, _Deckard?"

"No!" I screeched, "I won't do sex!"

My voice rang off of painted concrete walls, while the old man hit the roof with fright. Hands glued to hips, I tried to stare down the old man. Disgusting...disgusting... I won't be your prostitute.

"Not that!" he barked, recovering himself. "I ain't no Yakuza scum who sells _gaijin_ girls like yourself for profit, what the hell gave you that idea?"

His face was red as a boiled lobster, his eyes fixing me with that Siberian stare. I wasn't sure if he was more annoyed, or more embarrassed.

"Sorry," I muttered, a gentle shame welling up, "But,"...excuses... "I guess I'm just nervous is all. First job in a dangerous city,"

I scratched the back of my head, and he snorted .

"Can't be too careful I s'pose," Nakamura nodded, cooling "I won't begrudge a young woman that. Anyway where was I?" finger on his lips while he thought, and I thanked God for getting away with something, I wasn't sure what exactly. " You can sing, and dance, can't you?"

"Probably," I shrugged.

Well, I didn't know for sure, but I guessed I could.

"Learn how," he ordered "I can tell you have a voice practically built for it, and the house-band can and will play just about anything, Steinman especially. I don't want to have to do another open-mike night. That damned ADP police inspector thinking he was William Shatner," Nakamura's eyes narrowed in anger, "He nearly ruined me that one night with his _Danger Zone_ cover dedicated to Priss,"

I snorted, trying to stifle a laugh. I hadn't met Leon McNichol yet, but the mental image of his animated counterpart slaughtering Kenny Logins in true Shatner style was just too bloody funny to ignore.

Highway...to... thedanger..._zone._

Myway...to...thedanger..._zone._

"I didn't think it was so funny when they started asking for their money back," he snarled bitterly, "And don't think you'll be getting paid extra neither if you have to step up,"

"What if I'm popular?" I asked, trying to be as neutral as possible.

A singing career wouldn't exactly be the low profile Sylia had wanted…. Too many people would ask questions I couldn't answer.

"I'm pretty sure you will be, with your talent." The eyes told me just what talent he was on about. "And that talent will be best used to make day-to-day money behind bar,"

I gave a low groan, staring darkly down towards the end of the white painted corridor, to a steel door marked _Private. _Where the other bar staff were quietly murdered, hacked to pieces, then turned into mince pie? Or maybe whole roasted? Leg or breast? Well, there was plenty of breast to go around anyway. Nice, soft and tender, fresh off the bone. And sore thanks to my backpack.

Heh...

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing at all,"

"Anyway, back to important things," he said, leading me into a dark room, smelling of stale beer and steel, "Get to know how all this stuff works, you might have to change out a keg or something by yourself, and I don't want a floor flooded by expensive beer again."

I already knew how to use the equipment in the cellar, coolers, kegs and beer-taps hadn't changed much in twenty years or so, even if some stuff had been electronicised with bolt-on microcontrollers to the point of sheer bloody minded intransigence. That put me in the old man's good-books alright. It was also the reason I'd taken this particular job after all. I had some idea how to do it.

Afterwards, I helped ready the bar, setting up chairs, ashtrays, changing lightbulbs... basic stuff. It made me wonder how the old man did it himself, before he hired me.

Eventually, he left me at the bar, with a price-list under the table, and explicit instructions to tell our favourite red-eyed young brunette with the world's largest cow-lick that she would never work again in this entire town for dropping out of last night's concert on 'short as a hens-dick' notice. .

Sabers must've been busy, I told to myself. I'll admit, a small part of me was a little disappointed I wasn't fighting with them... having my own hardsuit, that'd be kinda awesome really. Maybe less people would stare at me walking around in figure hugging power armour. Somehow, that idea was related to me humming the theme tune to _M.A.S.K._, that old 1980's cartoon, while trying to figure out just why Mr. Nakamura had such a strong Texan accent.

_Come see the laser-rays, by the way_

At 16:17:44 in the afternoon, the bar was empty as a paupers bank account, except for a singular old git quietly reading a paper on the mezzanine, occasionally looking down onto the stage and dance-floor. The lights were bright up gleaming off of the dancefloor below, and highlighting three labour-boomers who were busying themselves hanging the buntings for tonight's act. I kept as far away from them as I could.

The bar was quiet enough anyway that I set some music running off my laptop, placing it beside the till. Not too loud, and nothing too heavy. It might've been 20 years out of date, but it still worked quite happily. It sat there, running away as it always did, completely unconcerned about the fact that the date had been reset to May 2032. It couldn't connect to the wireless network, 802.11 was obsolete, and it wondered where twenty years worth of updates where, but otherwise carried on as it always had.

Maybe I could do the same? Just carry on with life.

I sighed, setting the laptop playing another track, before scanning over the brainless boomers still labouring below. More mindless, mechanical automata. Same as the waitresses, they'd run for about 12 hours, then they had to be shut-down and recharged. I got about the same out of a decent sized meal.

I muttered curses to myself about the limitations of an artificial digestive system and bioreactor, while stashing a 6-pack of energy drinks under the counter in case I needed them. If I was to be working until 2am like I was told, I probably would. I flexed my wrist, adjusted my jacket to show less figure, checked the till was working properly, made sure the optics were fine, and got ready to face a long couple of hours with nobody else but newspaper-man and the boomers down below for company.

I had a feeling this was going to be a lonely life.

Oh well, better than _no _life.

Hearing a pair of bodies creak onto the barstools behind me, I tried to lock myself into a customer friendly smile... be nice, try ask how they are. Remember, the man behind the bar is the customers best friend. The air was twinged with a draft of tightly screwed sexual frustration, mingling with another persons bored dissatisfaction. Those where the sort of details I just didn't want to know about peoples lives, so I closed that mind's eye and focused on just doing my job.

Whatever words were rising in my throat, died when I saw who those two women sitting there, smiling at me. The first on the left, blue eyes, black hair, tall and athletic with a lop siding parting, held over to one side by a golden yellow headband. The second on the right was shorter, a little stockier, a little paler, and a good deal cuter. Green eyed with a candyfloss of what was somehow natural pink hair hanging loose to her shoulders. She smiled brightly, her eyes having an impish spark to them.

Nené Romanova, and once more Linna Yamazaki.

Sylia's warnings rang loud and clear in my head. "Do not contact any member of this group" she'd told me. They were grinning death at me. How long before a white hardsuit appeared with a knife in the neural circuits?

"Konnichi Wa!" the pair beamed.

"ah...ah... " I gaped, "Konnichi Wa,"

I stuttered the words out phonetically.

"Drinks Ladies?" I offered. Polite, just do my job. I don't know them.

"Meg, isn't it?" asked the pink Saber, "Nené Romanova. I speak English well enough,"

"Linna Yamazaki, yarrushkunay," she nodded.

I copied the word as best I could, before shrinking forwards against the hardwood counter

"I was told... I don't know yous," I whispered.

"That's our rule too... but we just sort of 'met' each other anyway," Nené answered, smiling at Linna. Linna giggled. "And we thought we'd drop by and say Hi,"

"Well...thanks...I guess," I answered, awkwardly expecting a blade to appear out of thin air.

"You don't have to be nervous," reassured Nené, "We know your secret as much as you know ours. Sylia told us," she bubbled.

I slumped against the bar, relief lifting off of my shoulders. Though just why Sylia would tell them herself, while explicitly telling me not to say a single word under pain of death, I didn't know, and frankly didn't really care about.

Linna announced something to the entire mezzanine, hugging herself across the chest, drawing a bubbling giggle from her pink-haired friend. I stood there, bewildered by it, newspaper man looking over at me and giving a gruff huff, before burying his head in bad news.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of anyway," continued Nené, "It's perfectly normal these days,"

Perfectly normal to be a boomer built solely for sexual pleasure? Or to arrive out of an alternate universe where this is all just a TV show. Oh sure, that's very common, happens every day in Megatokyo...

That was the first inkling I had that Sylia had told them something entirely different.

"What did she tell you?" I enquired, my voice hushed,

"Just that you were injured by a boomer, and had to get a complete cybernetic replacement, nothing else,"

So she told them "The Truth", as opposed to The _Truth_, then?

"Why, is there something else you're hiding?" needled Nené, her eyes sparking mischievously.

"No, nothing at all," I smiled back nervously.

The two women shared a hideously mischievous giggle between themselves, leaving me hanging like the last leaf on an autumn tree... cold, alone and oblivious to what fun all the other leaves were having together. Well, they can rot in their fun.

"Drinks, ladies?" I offered, remembering I was a working girl now, with a job to do.

I suddenly wanted to smash whatever synapse came up with that phrase across the counter in front of me... hard... repeatedly.

Linna answered by shaking her head, while adopting the 10-2 position with both hands on an imaginary steering wheel. She said something that sounded like "Coke deh gozzoimashta", or something... that's what I picked out.

"Coca-Cola," I confirmed, and she nodded.

"One for me too," Nené chimed in.

Linna chipped in with an fruitful jibe, tugging at the skin under her arms.

"USA!" Nené screamed...or at least that's what it sounded like anyway...her face flushing the same shade of pink as her hair, before she launched into a rapid-fire tirade of fury. The old git sitting by himself looked up from his paper and harrumphed at the interruption to his solitude, while I struggled to hold a laugh down in my belly. I really shouldn't laugh at customers... really... I smirked, a few titters tickling my lips.

The fitness instructor made one final statement, pinching the ADP officer hard on the stomach, taking a fold of white t-shirt with her. Nené made a face like she'd sat on live a spark plug.

"Diet Coke," she said to me, her voice as timid as a church mouse.

I couldn't keep it in... I detonated laughing, Linna finally exploding a second later on a delayed fuse. Free laughter, echoing across the cavernous dance floor. Nené ducked and covered under her hands, looking for all the world as if she hoped the table would swallow here.

"Well, us cyborgs don't get fat," I stated with absolute conviction, giving my hips a good pendulum swing for good measure. I was surprised at how good that felt to do, and I didn't dare spoil it by wondering why.

"I wish I was a cyborg," sighed Nené, casting her eyes down at the reflection in the counter, "Strong, fast, fit and with a body to die for,"

I busied myself trying to find the soft drinks before I said something stupid. According to the story Sylia had prepared, I _had_ died for this body. Now where were these things? Right, beside the till under the pint glasses.

2 small glasses of ice, one bottle of regular Coke, one bottle of Diet, and somehow I carried the whole lot in both hands at once to the counter.

"820 yen," I read off the pricelist. I made that out to be about 8 quid, which was expensive for a soft drink in any decade.

Nené groaned at her reflection, Linna sighed, and paid for both.

I clicked over to a different album on my laptop, using a nifty little remote control I had. Nené perked up immediately, inspecting the old Dell as best she could.

"How old is that computer, can I ask?"

She twirled a loose strand of hair as she spoke with deliberate politeness.

"Ship date is May 1st , 2008," I told her, oddly proud of it, "2.5Ghz Core2Duo processor. 4 Gigabytes of RAM, 320 Gigabyte Harddisk. Nvidia GPU, DVD drive and best of all, Xubuntu 9.04 Linux."

24 years old now, but serious hot shit for a laptop when I got it.

"Only 320 Gigabytes! I have single video files three times the size of that!" shouted Nené "Rotating magnetic harddisk?" I nodded, "And you're still using it day to day?"

I nodded again. By this stage, Linna looked like she was near ready to ask for something from the spirit rack, her eyes having glassed over the moment Nené slipped into geek mode.

"Can I see it," she pleaded, eyes sparkly like a starving puppy begging for food, "My parents used to have one just like it when I was a kid and I kept it right until the motherboard finally blew. It was the first computer I ever played with,"

'Played with'. That alone was reason enough to say no, I guess... but there was no real chance of her actually damaging it.

"Be my guest," I answered, giving a welcoming flourish. "Just please be careful,"

"Of course!" she chirped sunnily. "Trust me, I know what I'm doing,"

There was something about the way she said that. Famous last words, I thought. Oh well, another one of Sylia's rules broken. Bugger it.

Linna signalled for another coke, and I was glad to oblige, while Nené tried hard to keep herself from vaulting over the top of the bar, instead giddily pottering around the other end. I'd never seen such a manic look of glee on a persons face... not outside the pages of _Black Lagoon_ anyway. If it was possible to dive through the screen, I think she would've. It'd been a while since I'd seen a full blown geekgasm. Finding system files older than herself was apparently enough to finally tip Nené over the edge and into digital bliss.

Linna passed a quiet comment about cyberpunks, before sighing quietly to herself, and I suddenly felt strangely at ease, now that I was with real human beings. I just nodded, despite not knowing exactly what she'd said, I still sort of understood it. I tried to figure out what horrors she was inflicting on on my poor PC, watching her fingers fly across the keyboard like a caffeinated spider having a fit. The were something mesmerising about it... even if the screen had gone black, and she was working with only a wall of white terminal text while humming something that sounded like _Asu e Touchdown. _I had the a sinking feeling deep in my gut that sudo had provided as much protection for my system files from her as a Bible did against a machinegun.

Linna had lost herself in thought, while I tried to find something I could talk to her about. She took a few small sips from her glass, looking like she was wishing there was more than just sugar, caffeine and vegetable extracts in there for a moment.

"Um..." she tried.

She spoke to me, directly, in a polite tone of voice. It twisted my stomach with shame not to be able to understand her, because she was saying something important to me. Her eyes were kind, she was trying to hold me with her gaze, but I just didn't feel able to meet her. "Irene" and "Arigato deh gozzaimashta"... I picked those words out, and knew what she was trying to say.

And I felt horrible because of it, the lingering shame of failure hanging heavily on my shoulders. It should've been obvious the car was going to turn, right? I should've given her my jacket or something...or... Cotton t-shirts and tearing tarmac...Fuckit. She's still alive, and that's the important thing, and I'll keep telling myself that until it feels like the truth.

"You're welcome," I answered, but it didn't really sound like I meant it. I took a long draw of breath. "How is she anyway?" I asked.

Nené's hyperactive typing filled the air, mixed with some music that seemed way too happy.

Linna answered with a gentle smile, and a single thumbs up.

"Good," I said softly, exhaling gently. Both of us recognised how futile it would be to try go any further on the subject. As long as Irene was alive, she could recover. All wounds heal eventually. Even if Priss would've pulled it off without breaking a sweat...

Bugger. The worst part about working in a bar was being surrounded by gallons of alcohol, and not being able to drink a drop. The second worst thing about being a boomer was alcohols weren't absorbed into my bloodstream, so no matter how much I wanted to, it was impossible to get drunk anyway. Not even a desiccated lizard in the middle of the Sahara desert could be as desperately thirsty for a drink as I was right then.

The first of my energy drinks would have to do.

"Yatta!" Nené whooped triumphantly. "I am So Leet!"

She danced a giddy jig while the two other women in the bar blinked and the man behind the newspaper harrumphed, nursing a glass of whiskey. It'd been a while since I'd heard anyone say 'Leet' out loud, and probably the only time where there wasn't a single hint of irony.

"What?" I questioned.

I was almost afraid to ask.

"Wireless Internet on old 802.11n card," she announced, "Sure it's limited to only about 50 megabytes a second, but it works,"

50 megabytes a second. Wow.

"How?"

I had tried... but I couldn't even pick up networks I knew existed.

"Most networks have 802.11bc compatibility mode still, and that's not too different to the original n. The only difference was WEP3 software encryption, and that was easy to add,"

Wow... My own computer abilities stopped at being able to find the error, Google up a solution, then copypasta that into the terminal and pray. I could also whack code with pointless addons, but that was it.

"Awesome..." I grinned. Imagine what I could download at 50MB/sec. "Free coke?"

"Diet please," she requested, giving Linna the evil eye,

"No problem,"

And out of my own pocket too, since I was a new employee, and the cash register had to add up. Oh well, it was the least I could do.

The three of us talked for a little long, well as best we could anyway, poking vainly at the language barrier, or trying to peek over the top. At times, going back and forth through Nené, who was the only person with a fluent grasp of both languages, got frustrating for all three of us, her especially, but it was also kind of fun, especially when the pair of them conspired to tie me up in an almighty honorific knot.

I swore off those irritating suffixes right then and there.

As afternoon began to give way to early evening, the bar started to slowly fill with post-work, pre-drunk salarymen and the odd gaggle of girls getting in to hold a table for tonight's show. As much as I enjoyed talking with the two Sabers, I had a job to do. Whistles had to be whetted, phone numbers requested and hopeless hopefuls brusquely rebuffed.

"The curse of us beautiful people," Nené lamented, teasing me.

"As if you'd know," I cut back, without even thinking.

It didn't take three guesses to work out that Linna had snarked back with the exact same thing.

"Humph," Nené pouted, sticking her tongue out at the pair of us. She was answered by a pair of girlish giggles. She was so cute when she pouted, almost childish.

Things got busier, things got louder as the evening deepened. The band began their sound checks as the labour-boomers donned black suits and shaded. Strong enough to lift 200 kilo's of steel, strong enough to manhandle troublemakers out the door, that was Nakamura's thinking behind it. That and they were cheaper than regular door-staff since they only required a charging socket and an overhaul every six months. Smarter too, with more imagination, which considering they were only a step up from Saturday's waitress in the sense department, said a lot about the doormen I'd encountered in my life. I wasn't the only 'flesh and blood' member of the staff mind, but I was the only one who worked behind the bar.

Eventually, Linna and Nené left. They had a meeting to go to, they told me. I could guess what sort of meeting that was, but I kept my mouth shut. We exchanged phone numbers as a matter of course. Heh, best way to get a woman's phone number was to be another woman it seemed.

6:24:15… I finished my first energy drink, allowing the sugar rush to surge through me. It gave a kick like a shot of nitrous oxide into a petrol engine, and just as fleeting. I was getting tired. It had only been 4 hours since I started and I was already beginning to feel like the alternate bunny in an Energiser ad, slowing down just as things got hairy. Just 8 more to go I sighed; didn't I have the right to a break?

The band started at 9 o'clock on the dot, or near enough to it, by which time I was being run off my feet, the language barrier rearing it's ugly head once more as I tried to figure out whether some drunken salaryman wanted 2 whiskeys, or a double-whiskey, or 2 double whiskeys or God knows fucking what. And there was one thing _everyone _wanted. The prize for the night was my phone number, or the door to my underwear. Every third drink, someone made a half-arsed pass at me…. And not just men either. It didn't matter; it was exhausting as hell either way.

"2 pints of lager, 1000 Yen, Yes I can make change, Yes I'm single, No I'm not in the market. I won't ever be on the market. Yes, I'm going to be become a nun if you don't stop bothering me. No, I won't go out with your girlfriend either," … now kindly fuck off and let me deal with other customers, of course I can't say that. "I have other people to deal with, stop bothering me!. Yes, now what can I get for you now sir?"

Repeat every minute or two, for 8 hours. Drunks, dancers, a hen party of all things and a bunch of bikers who thought my undivided attention was their God-given right.

At least the music was good, in a Lisa Lougheed fashion.

So were chips from a place down the street. Starch and salt, exactly what I needed to keep the batteries charged.

The band stopped at about 23:30, with last orders shortly afterwards. _Hot Legs_ was first and foremost a concert venue, the bar was almost secondary. That didn't stop it being busy, mind you. A lot of people left when the band left the stage, but a few hangers on enjoyed the ambience around the bar….or the girl serving drinks in a slightly sweat-dampened t-shirt and hip-hugging jeans. Some drunkards started a fight, and were carried out the door by the boomer bouncers.

Now that was impressive, one hanging under each arm, squealing like a pig being led to the slaughter as they were taken outside.

The last stragglers left by half past midnight, and the place closed. The band had a few drinks, while I helped one of the boomers, and a couple of the girls clean up the glasses, wipe down the tables and generally get things ready for tomorrow. The bouncers had traded their suits for overalls, and were now mindlessly taking down the same decorations they'd set up ten hours earlier.

I finished at 01:30, officially… left twenty minutes after that, and finally staggered in through my front door at 02:51:22.

Mentally I was frazzled, but physically, my batteries were practically empty. I could barely hold myself upright, my legs leaden beneath me. My body screamed for more power, and that meant something to eat before resting my mind with sleep. In the end, belly full and simmering with some cheap cereal, I finally dropped into bed, still wearing my clothes.

Lather, rinse and repeat six days a week, every week, before I got paid on Saturday. Thank God I had Sunday to rest.

**I...I**

_Priss and The Replicants_ played on Friday. By then, I was beginning to slot into the daily grind. Having learned my lesson, I stashed some fuel reserves for use when I could steal the chance. The afternoon buzz was beginning, when a young brunette woman with eyes that almost matched her red jacket stood up to the bar, brushing her fringe out of her eyes

"Can I get 2 bottles of Coke, a bucket of ice, and a bottle of Bacardi downstairs after the show?" she requested, her voice flat, and coolly polite.

Her eyes though, fixed me with a cold, distrustful glare.

"Yeah, no problemo" I nodded, wondering just what her problem was, while trying not to hide behind the bar to escape that chilling gaze.

She was gone before I'd even finished speaking, leaving nothing but an arctic draft to mark her presence.

What was her issue?

**I...I**

I gave up trying to learn Japanese the old fashioned way, about the same time I'd heard that Boomers can install and run multiple language packs at once. So naturally, the first place I turned was the internet, scanning through for something I could use.

_G-search: BU-33 series Japanese language pack Install._

Result:

Official GENOM product. BU-30 through 35 series models. All variants. Japanese language additional pack. Direct Download FileSize. 40.2TB. Installs both locally and via Bu-series patented iLink® technology. Download price,…More than I'd make in a month.

Alright then, lets try this a different way.

_G-search: BU-33 series Japanese language pack Install pirate crack warez_

Result:

This website has been blocked by your ISP for your benefit. This website is involved in illegal activity that may harm your computer…. Yatta yatta yatta bullshit explanation.

The changeover IPv6 and the signed persistent personal access certificates needed to even get online had finally ended the golden age of the internet. It was fast as hell, about 100GB/sec after filtering and scanning and reporting back to Big Brother, but it was such a bloody pain to use. Security authentication, content filtering and analysis, persistent monitoring of downloads and uploads. Everything done online now was traceable, not just to an IP address, but to the certificate attached to the static IP address, and therefore, the person attached to the certificate. If that IP and it's certificate were found to be doing something illegal, the certificate and hence, net access, was suspended, and a fine sent out by the ISP to be paid to reactivate the connection. While it's debatable if there was ever such thing as anonymity and privacy on the web...I'd never used social networking sites because I saw them as the digital equivalent of streaking bollock-naked across the pitch on cup-final day...the internet of 2032 was pretty much just one giant distributed telescreen watching right back at you unless you were someone who really knew their onions.

I didn't.

Bugger them anyway. It was back to tape, headphones and that book I'd bought on my first day in town. The old fashioned way still worked, albeit slowly. After a week, each day on the way too and from work, I could just about hold a rudimentary conversation. Being dumped in the middle of a language was always the best way to learn…. Even if it was like throwing a kid in the harbour and telling him to swim; either he did, or he drowned.

I could just about keep my head above the water…

**I...I**

I lived quite happily for about four weeks, unbothered by boomer rampages or any near-death experiences.

Eventually, I stopped expecting my dog to come running to the door each time I came back to the apartment. I came to relish the solitude and silence, even if I'd learned to _tolerate_ the constant passes and love propositions, my apartment had become a wonderful refuge from the world at large. Quiet…. Solitary…

Even if I couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing each time I came home.

It wasn't my family, not as much as I'd expected anyway. I'd been old enough and mature enough to deal with being separated from my parents. Hell, I'd practically separated myself from them anyway before this happened… I spent more time on the internet, alone in my bedroom, or away at college, rather than with them. I used to be up and out the door in the mornings before they even woke up and came home late enough that they were either gone to work themselves, or in bed. What times we were in the same house, I spent browsing the web. I was well used to not having them around.

My Dog on the other hand….

Archie, a little black furred Jack Russell Terrier, with more bursting energy than a good sized bomb. He'd see me off in the morning, standing at the window with his ears pricked up, staring with his brown eyes as I left. He graduated to barking madly at the BMW whenever I fired it up… it must've been the whine of the fuel-pump the bugged him. And sure enough, every evening as I came home, Archie would be there, standing in the window, stubby tail flicking wildly from side to side. My dog always ran out to meet me when I parked the bike up. My dog was always glad when I came home…. Unbridled, unconditional terrier joy that the food-giver was back.

Poor bugger… he probably sat there wondering where I was all night….waiting. He probably curled up on my empty bed… night after night…. Waiting…. Could a dog live to 24 years? Probably not.

And that thought never failed to bring tears to my eyes.

I know it sounds stupid, but of all the people I had known, I missed my dog most of all. I'd almost laugh myself, if I didn't tear up because of it. I set that as my goal in life. To get enough cash together to go home and find out what happened to my dog. It sounded silly, but that was what I most wanted to do. Not be a power armoured cyber vigilante, or some sort of licensed Blade Runner gunning down BTO's

Considering how poorly paid I actually was, that was going to take some time. Budgeting for rent, food, utilities, clothes, consumables like train fare, and a new computer left me very little spare money day to day. Enough that I wasn't in the poorhouse mind, but not a lot.

It was Wednesday, mid-June. The rainy season had well and truly arrived, with local news reporting flooding down in the fault, with homes and businesses drowning under the run-off from the city above, pouring through still broken sewer mains and tunnels. Traffic ground to a halt as the streets turned to rivers, drivers sitting for long hours without moving a single inch. This meant the maglevs were jam-packed, even in the early afternoon which of course meant the trains were stifling hot, overcrowded to the point where not even a gnat could breath, and being prowled by that dastardly fiend of the Japanese subway system… the _chickan._

Which was why I was trying desperately not to rub a sore nipple in public as I traipsed to work through the rain, wet hair weighing down on my head. Umbrellas were useless against rain that went sideways in the wind. Denim jackets were useless against anything remotely resembling moisture. And the worst thing, the absolutely worst thing was that when I had shrieked in pain when that perverts hand grabbed sensitive flesh, _everyone _in the carriage looked at me as if I was the disruptive one, as if it was the height of shame dishonour to be startled by a pervert and be unable to bear a quiet fondling in stoic silence. And the worst part… the absolute worst part… when he 'fainted' a few second after I caught him, they held the train up for ten minutes to give time for an ambulance to pick the pervert up. Irish Rail would've dropped him at a station and carried on regardless.

I was in a foul mood, and that was putting it mildly. Cold, soaked to the bone, and with 12 hours hard labour ahead for a pittance of pay.

Such was life in the big city.

I stole a towel to dry off from one of the dressing rooms downstairs, stashed some food away for later, made sure I wasn't going to be entered in any sort of wet t-shirt competition and stepped up to my duty station behind the bar. The newspaper man was there, same as always, same whiskey. _Priss_ _and The Replicants_ were playing again tonight, so it was going to get busy. Priss was popular alright, and not just among the denizens of the megalopolis. There were 2 suit wearing gentlemen in the far corner, hiding in a dark spot where one of the lights had blown. They'd been there since Monday, all day everyday, from as soon as the place opened, to as soon as the band finished.

Record company talent scouts looking for a new signing, was Nakamura's opinion on them. I just wondered what would happen if they found out that 90% of the music I was playing off of my laptop was pirate. Probably nothing, but I felt like such a rebel nonetheless.

I was finally heating up when Priss showed up, sucking the heat out right out of the room. I didn't want to even say a word to her, in case her voice somehow worked magic to turn me into a block of ice, but I swallowed that and waved her over,

"Ken wants to see you," I told her in slow, deliberate Japanese.

"_Thank you,"_ she waved me off semi-politely as she drafted past, making a beeline through the building crowd for the dressing rooms, before stopping and turning to face. My spirit sank. "About what?" she questioned.

I shrugged honestly,

"I do not know." I stated, then remembered the suits, "Maybe, talent scouts over there," I pointed to the two gentlemen.

She glanced over at the two grey-suited gentlemen I was pointing too. For a moment, I thought I saw a chill run through her body, an excited shiver. There was a new spark in her eyes, a confident gleam, and for the first time, she actually smiled at me, before darting downstairs to get ready. Well, tonight was going to be an interesting night anyway. If Priss gets a record deal and leaves the Sabers…. There would be an open position…..

No… definitely not the job for me, I reminded myself. No sir. To much danger… to much getting shot at. Wasn't Priss supposed to die in Red Eyes originally? Except for fan power she would've been replaced by Reika. Somehow, I don't think there'd be enough fan power to save the unpopular replacement. As if to remind me that this _wasn't_ an animé, I dropped the glass I'd been drying on my foot. It was the sound and shock of it shattering against steel-capped leather rather than any sort of pain that dragged me back to the real world.

This wasn't a dumb TV show. I could die quite easily if I wasn't careful.

Yeah, I didn't want to be Knight Saber... not one bit... not at all... standing safely behind this bar all day every day for the next 34 years, that's the life I wanted. Safe, predictable, until I finally wore out like an old car.

I wouldn't age...not visibly anyway... but I'd still wear out. Like any machine, 90% of lifetime wear and tear would happen in the last ten minutes before everything juddered to a halt. Onboard SMART predicted that date as being April 10th 2066, barring any overhaul.

How Depressing... Well, at least I'll live to see Cochrane's flight.

"So, beautiful, how's the entertainment tonight?"

I cringed, and nearly dropped a second glass. Oh no... not that voice. I didn't want to turn around.

"No backstage," I stated flatly.

"Not even for a police Inspector?" the voice queried, with all the sickening smoothness of curdled cream.

Broad shouldered and wearing a maverick leather jacket with oversized shades like he was Top Gun himself_, e_veryone's favourite chocolate-haired ADP inspector was smiling his lady-killing smile at me. I thought about fainting him, a nice little FU considering how bad my mood was, but I wasn't an idiot. A trained ADP officer would know exactly what I'd done, and how I'd done it. That bulge in his jeans wasn't because he enjoyed the view in front of him that was for sure.

"Without warrant?" I questioned, "Besides, I thought you preferred redheads, not brunettes" I had to keep him out of backstage. Ken hated people going back there, especially people who had police badges, or could do William Shatner impressions. I'd never hear the end of it.

Daley Wong looked up from his cocktail, picked at a few stands of ginger hair on his pastel suit, and blinked for a moment, "Don't worry, I'm not the jealous type," he purred, his eyes giving me the strangest, softest look. He wasn't the only one here with red hair.

"Well, I can stay here and talk with you if you like?" Smooth alright... smooth and practised. I sensed it hadn't worked in a _long_ time. Pheromones again. I wanted to bury my head in my hands to get away from _that_ idea.

"Um..." I swallowed, trying to get back on my feet. "I thought you two is partners?"

"And we're cops too, but I try to keep Leon-poo here on a short leash," Daley cut in, giving me the smallest of winks. My hero... thank you so very much.

"Aww Daley, can't I play just this one time," whined Leon playfully, throwing his arms up to the heavens.

"You can play when we get home," Daley slid into the role of the stern parent.

"Awwww but I wanna," the ADP inspector continued, before glancing back to me with an unsettling gleam in his eyes. I was almost tempted to give him the key to Priss' dressing room, if it would just get him away from me. "At least let me get her phone number," he pleaded childishly.

"No Phone!" I stated, crossing my arms, trying to stare him down. I felt that same stunning charge start to build, but I clamped down hard. No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't do it to a Police officer... not one that would recognise what happened anyway.

"Boy's, can't take them anywhere," Lamented the pastel suited partner, rolling his eyes to the heavens.

I giggled quietly, smiling back a 'thank you'. I could almost have kissed him for it... almost.

"Talk later!" Leon called over, waving at me. Like all good police inspectors, he latched onto a lead and never gave up until he reached the bottom of the case. Well, at least he was off _my_ case anyway. I watched the odd couple argue for a few minutes, taking up a seat at a table overlooking the dance floor.

Heh, anybody who didn't know them would think they were partners... and not in cop sense. There was something about the way the pair of them bickered between themselves... only close friends and couples bickered like that.

"Meg" another voice clamoured for my attention. This person I _wanted_ to talk to, but what I wanted didn't matter. I had another customer to deal with

"One second," I acknowledged with a hand, the other busy manipulating a bottle of whiskey. Multitasking was so much easier when you were a machine. For one thing, making change, finagling prices and differential calculus were all made a great deal easier by computerised subprocessor controls. God bless technology. I never got my figures wrong, not once. Thank the customer; give a smile, then move on.

Linna Yamazaki had taken her favourite seat at the end of the bar, the same way she did every Wednesday. I was amazed at how I was still a little bit nervous when starting conversations with other women, even though I was able to talk to myself all day when I was on my own.

"Afternoon Linna," I tried casually, my voice still sounding strangely strangled to my ear.

Which was funny, considering what I was and what _abilities_ I had built in.

"Meg," she smiled back, "How's things,"

Linna was just about the only person to call me Meg, on a day to day basis. Nearly everyone else called me Deckard, or something that sounded more like _Dekkahdo_. What I understood about Japanese firstname/lastname differences was just that it was different to the European way of doing it somehow, and since I never really got the European way of doing it either, I didn't really care. Fact was, I preferred Deckard…. I thought it sounded better. Harder, sharper, it matched the reflection in the mirror, even if it didn't match the slightly Meggish personality.

"New day…. Same life," I said with a Gallic shrug. "I hear music tonight is be good though," I grinned. "Might want you stick around?"

Xian Pu speech…. Such was 4 weeks in Japan.

"Priss's always good," Linna said, looking out towards the stage. The equipment was ready and sound-checks were about to begin. "But Sylia hates it when we drink. I think being drunk in control of a hardsuit is a crime,"

She giggled, I laughed.

"One light drink not drunk," I pointed out.

"Well, maybe a teeny-weeny drop," she relented.

Teeny was the distance between her thumb and index finger, and weeny was the mischievous glint I could see in her eye through it. Teeny-weeny in the same way I used to go out for a teeny-weeny drop and then wake-up in the morning with a teeny-weeny headache not remembering how I driven home….maybe…

"Bacardi and Coke?" I suggested.

"Ick no," she cringed. "What wines do you have here again?"

"Uh…Red and white?"

Linna gave a cartoonish roll of her eyes. "Red then, I guess,"

I had a feeling both were a mixture of anti-freeze, tap-water and concentrate grape drink anyway, so it made little difference. Turns out, there were actually 4 varieties of each. Linna chuckled, and I blushed trying to figure out which one was a Cabernet Sauvignon that wasn't too expensive. Normally, I'd just pull a red one or a white one and never give it a second thought about what was actually there. I knew how to set the gear in the cellar up. I knew how the computer systems propping up and accounting for everything sort of worked…..or at least how to read a man page anyway. I didn't know shite-all about wine.

"So, how is Irene?" I asked, same as always, dropping some of my own cash into the till… same as always. Never offer a friend a drink, then expect them to pay, even where you're the one behind the bar.

"Getting better," said Linna, "but...Oh Wait that reminds me!" light flashed behind her eyes as she remembered something, "Sylia's looking for you!" Her voice rang off the glassware behind me.

I winced, and not just because the entire bar was watching us. The fitness instructor blushed, giggling nervously while hiding under her hands.

"Sorry," she whispered, pulling me close, "Sylia has something she wants to talk to you about,"

"What is it?" I questioned, with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man asking 'when?' The unasked question I hoped would be 'She's not going to kill me now, is she?' Not when I've just gotten halfway settled here.

"Uh...," she took a nervous look around, took a generous sip from her wine glass, then took a breath, "I don't actually know, but she told me to tell you anyway,"

"Well," I sighed. "She know where I live."

And work. And probably what I have for breakfast each day. And how many times I've run a 'self diagnostic' in the shower in the morning after a long day's work, and a shite night's sleep.

"Taro, isn't it?"

I nodded, rattling off my address, "Apartment 847, Building 214k, Block A, Taro Residential District, Yokohama,"

"I used to live there…. They get real hot don't they?"

I nodded again. I was about to say something else, when a familiar voice piped up above the conversation

"Hey, Deckard!, We'll talk again sometime! Tell Priss I'm sorry I can't see her show"

McNichol was waving at me, giving me a cheeseater grin as he pushed his way to the door. I could see Daley just rolling his eyes. They were gone out the door so fast, I swore they knew the building was on fire and they'd decided not to share that fact with everyone else.

"_I wonder what that was about," _I remarked out loud.

"Huh?"

Oh right…. Japanese.

"Leon McNichol Daley Wong just leave in hurry,"

"Maybe they just got an emergency call or something," Linna suggested with a shrug. "They're police,"

"I really do not know," I commented. "Seemed very rushed,"

"Perhaps Leon ran out of hair gel again," giggled the dancer, taking another sip from her glass, "And anyway…"

She stopped dead cold, the words dying in her throat as her watch alarm began to cheep, a little green light, a little green light flickering in time with the watch's canary chirps. Linna's face went white as snow.

"What?" I asked, but I already knew.

"Where is Priss' changing room?" she asked, her voice straining taught as a tightrope as she glanced first to the door the two coppers had bolted through, then down at the empty stage. The boomers were still busy with the lighting rigs, being bossed around by _The Replicant's _lead guitarist.

"Downstairs, right exit, then door on left,"

The air around her chilled with cold, steel fear for a moment, before her confidence reasserted itself.

"_Thank you,"_ she said breathlessly, "We'll talk later,"

"Good Luck," I wished, knowing exactly where she was going, and what she was about to do

She gave me a wonderful, sparkling smile for a moment, before diving through the crowd, hurrying quickly down the stairs and through the door.

Nope, I definitely didn't want to be a Knight Saber. Not at all...

"Excuse me, Miss, can we get a drink," somebody cut in.

Oh well, back to reality, back to work. Linna's drink stood alone at the bar, barely even touched. A little mini-bottle of wine, barely enough for a standard glass... I thought about it, but it'd look bad for a staffer to be scarfing the dregs.

"Deckard!" another voice barked.

Nakamura was bolting through the crowd, radiating fury. He pushed his way behind the bar, some half jarred bint glaring at him as he brushed against her.

"Yes?" I questioned dumbly, in my own language. "I'm sorta busy here?"

"Priss just bailed out on me," he barked above the crowd, "Some family thing. My God I swear this is the last time I let her get away with this crap,"

Anger burned hot.

"So we canceling?"

Please no... that would get bloody,

"Hell no!. You remember I had you rehearse with the band two weeks ago?"

He had a malicious gleam in his eyes. Oh hell... I answered with nothing but a limp nod.

"It'll be rough as hell," he drawled, "and that stuff you like's a bit old, but it'll be better than karaoke or some shit like that."

I frowned... it wasn't_ that_ old. I tried to force the sick fear building in my gut back down to some little place deep under my feet. I'd rather be taking on that Terminatrix single handed, than get on that stage. At least getting stabbed through the chest would've been a quick death, rather than being booed and bottled.

"If you can do an hour, that'll be enough."

"Do I have a I choice?"

"Yeah, do you want to get paid on Saturday, or not?"

"Fine," I rolled my eyes, resigning myself to a slow, painful death.

"Good. Get ready, get squared away with the band, and break a leg, You got two hours to prepare"

Oh hell...

I skulled away the last of Linna's drink in one quick shot. Then suddenly felt a hell of a lot worse when I remembered my systems would just filter it out before it got anywhere near my brain.

**I...I**

I stood up for my public execution, baking like Christmas cake in a heavy black leather jacket, pink tank-top, ankle-breaker stilettos, fishnets and a dark skirt that thankfully went all the way to my knees. Use your sexuality, I'd been told, be confident, bring the audience onto the stage... but not really... and don't be afraid to move about.

I forgot everything anyone had said to me when I saw the crowd. It seemed twice the size as it was from up at the bar. The blonde Barbie doll, Isildore waved down at me from my natural post, and I fucking hated her for it. I could hear them out there muttering, wondering who this new redhead was, and where Priss had gone.

Priss-fans... they were almost as picky as Asuka Sorhyu fans.

Alright then... there's the mic... standing like a solitary gibbet on which to hang myself. Introduce yourself, say where Priss has gone, beg their forgiveness and then get started on my funeral dirge.

The lights glared down, burning like the sun.

Just be confident. Own the stage. And don't worry about it. That's easy for the man in the bloody cellar to say. I took a breath, looked at my right, Batty the bassist grinned back at me, and gave me a nod. On my left, Batty's brother with something called rhythm guitar, doing the drums right behind us all, was Polikov.

Three guesses where the name came from. Oh well, wasn't it a fan-theory that Deckard was a replicant and didn't realise it?

Alright, I haven't seen any C-beams or Tannhauser gates, but here we go. Deep breath. Time... to die.

"Alright," I started, my voice echoing through the mic, followed by a sharp guitar twang, "Priss can not be tonight. Personal emergency. I am Deckard, from the bar. I will try make good show," I laughed nervously, "but...em...I not never replace Priss. Please enjoy."

Silence. My heart was thundering forward, my body burning hot beneath the lights. I was sweating up a storm, driving my onboard pheromones as hard as they would. I was standing bolt still, yet my body was revving its head off like a car in neutral with the throttle nailed down. Warnings in my mind told me I was burning through my reserves faster than they could recharge off of my dinner.

At least I had the power to run for the exits if I had to

"Alright, this is old..." I continued. Over 50 years at a guess, "But it is still good,"

I gave another quick glance around. Lead Batty brother nodded at me. Ready to go? That was the telepathic question. I didn't want to nod, but I did.

Polikov started on the drums, thumping out the beating intro alone. A few seconds later both Batty's came in with their guitars. Okay, I know how this song is supposed to go. Any second now I was supposed to go.

Deep breath... don't fuck this up... don't throw up when you open your mouth...confidence...4...3...2...1..lead in...

"_Just sixteen, a pick up truck  
Out of money out of luck"_

The first few chords went out. They weren't cheering, if anything, they looked surprised. At least they weren't throwing bottles.

_"I've got no place to call my own  
Hit the gas and here I go_

_I'm running free yeah, I'm running free  
I'm running free yeah, I'm running free"_

I don't think I had Priss' power, or her stagecraft and charisma... my sexaroid effects were only bothering the first few rows. A few whooped up as they recognised the tune... glad to see some Maiden fans survived well into the new century. Alright, only another hour of this two go. Oh hell, it was only forever. I'll never begrudge anyone standing up on stage again...

Outside, away in the big city, a brace of rogue combat boomers were tearing through the residential districts in Ota ward.

**I...I**

Thursday morning and I didn't want to get up.

My ankle still ached after I'd twisted it last night... bloody stilettos. I was starving hungry, my body demanding it's daily fuel. I felt like I was hung over... it was that same sick-mouthed, slow-brained and jelly-bellied feeling I knew so well from a previous life. I got through the show alright, blazing through my energy reserves so fast, my digestive system just couldn't keep up. Staggering from the stage, half oblivious to what was going on around me, or why everyone was cheering, I put one foot on the stairs down backstage, before my ankle buckled, my legs melted under me, and I fell flat on my face.

I didn't even have enough power to stand up, until someone gave me a can of energy-drink.

Ken drove me home, fair play to him, filling me up with starchy rice on the way. I could barely talk...I felt almost drunk. My electrolytes had gone to hell and I couldn't walk without being helped. Anyone watching would've gotten the wrong idea alright. Well, I'll never wear fishnets again. Or a skirt. I'll never stand on a stage again, or drain my batteries to the point where I have to be carried home. I'll never begrudge Priss getting a full days pay for 2 hours on stage.

At least they cheered.

Maybe they were just being polite, but they cheered.

I tugged my t-shirt close to my body, and locked my systems into a diagnostic. Best make sure I hadn't broken anything. If I had, there was no way I could fix it anyway, but it'd be worth knowing. Letting that run as a background process in my subconscious, I rolled over in bed, and tried desperately to build up the will to do anything other than lay their under warm sheets.

09:28:23 according my clock.

_All along the Watchtower._

That's how the show was closed. The only person in the room who got the true joke was me, and I was too busy trying to remember the words, and trying not to collapse from exhaustion to laugh at it.

I was built for about an hours endurance at full performance...do you really need anything more from a sexaroid? I might be able to beat the average human being with that, in a sprint...but I'd never run a marathon.

Just because I looked human on the surface, just because the only way to tell I was anything but was to cut me apart and analyse the internal circuitry and molecular make-up, didn't mean I was human. Even if an x-ray would only show a person with a high level of cybernetics.

But internally, emotionally, I was different. I knew the wetware between my ears was _capable_ of experiencing the full range of the human emotional response...but it wasn't really allowed to. There were gaps, deliberate and brutal walls and fencing keeping things within certain defined parameters. I could sense them hiding there, but if I tried to grab at them, if I tried to explore those walls and press against the fencing, it would recede into the distance. It was like trying to catch the wind in your hands. You couldn't see it, you couldn't hold it, but you still knew it was there, tantalisingly close.

There was one wall I could see clear as day, I saw it every time I looked in the mirror and Meg Deckard was staring back at me. Or at least, I used to see it... It kept me sane and stable, while my mind...or soul...or spirit...or subconscious...or Imaged AI imprint, or whatever 'me' was, adapted itself to its new container.

These walls were necessary, that's the thing. Some people would say that's the hell of being a machine, that your mind can't go to the extremes. But for a high-level AI boomer, these blocks are the only thing keeping them sane. They could do their jobs, the same repetitive, monotonous tasks day in and day out, jobs that for a human being would be soul grinding, the sort of work that would drain a persons spirit, without even being bothered by it. The walls were what allowed the boomers to do their jobs in peace. When a boomer failed, and went buggo it was usually because some emotional pointer had smashed through the limits, leading to one almighty overrun screw within the boomers cerebellum.

But that was for high-grade type-11's like myself, with high organic neuron fractions and poor memory protection. Low grades, type-7 and below, were just computers with a few biochips added in. They failed in different ways.

As a sexaroid, I knew that I would accept most sexual acts comfortably, but I'd never be able to develop an emotional bond through it. For humans, both women and, contrary to what a lot of women would like to think, men too, the act of sex can form some of the strongest emotional bonds possible between two people. For two hearts to beat in what is for an instant, one body... It was an absolute physical connection, deeper than the touch of a kiss.

To actually have another person inside your body...or be inside another person...

For me, that would mean nothing at all, no different than masturbation. Feels great to do but makes a bit of a mess of the sheets. That didn't stop a lot of what I was programmed to do from disgusting me... it made me sick sometimes to just _think_ about... but I don't think I'd bat an eyelid if I ever actually did any of it.

I wasn't sure whether that was the deepest of hells or the highest of heavens. Sex without the emotional consequences? Without the pain and crippling jealousy of an angry breakup? Or without the comfort and support of a partner who loves me enough to share themselves with me?

I didn't know. I didn't really want to find out for sure. I didn't want to be a Misato Katsuragi...somebody hiding their crippling loneliness by jumping from bed to bed but never really solving the problem, searching for but never experiencing any form of companionship. Of course, I wasn't lonely, I was just _a little homesick..._but still, I didn't want to live like that. I didn't know if I'd hate myself or not for it, but I didn't ever want to take the chance of finding out. Sex...It was a black Pandora's Box for me, which led to what seemed like a dark and seedy life, and a place in my psyche I just didn't want to go.

But God, I hoped could at least be able to hate myself if I did.

How depressing.

09:54:22.

Still in bed... staring at my navel like an idiot but nothing better to do than engage in pointless introspection. All this Blade Runner self-analysis stuff usually ended up depressing me, and really changed nothing about who and what I was. The funny thing was, I stopped writing Neon Genesis Evangelion fanfiction for a while because of exactly this sort of thing. I got bored with all the navel gazing, psychotic contortionism and more mental screw-ups than a good season of Doctor Phil. And there I was, playing it for real.

"I'm in the wrong series," I said allowed, forcing a dry, humourless cackle

Well, I'll have to cut down then, I promised myself.

I had friends, at least. Linna was a friend, Nené too...I talked with her on line. There was Isildore, the ditz from _Hot Legs_ and I think Ken Nakamura liked me. And then, that was it. It was just me in here, in this apartment. Fuck it, I have to get up for work anyway... might aswell get up now. Always feel better with a shower and food anyway. Wash the tiredness away and watch it drain down the sink. A shower is the jetwash of life. It even worked for us machines.

"You're wondering who I am," I sang _a capella_, as I fixed breakfast in my nightwear, "Machine or mannequin?" Television on, morning news time "With parts made in Japan," Air-con finally decided to kick in, lovely and cool

"I am the modern man !"

A solitary bluebottle buzzed lazily into the window, unappreciative of my talents.

"Domo Arigato Miss Sexaroido," I laughed.

The fly bobbed stupidly against the window. Funny that, according to Megatokyo law, that fly had more rights than I did. Pulling the wings off of a fly was _technically_ animal cruelty, a recordable criminal offence. Pulling the legs off of even a high-grade boomer like myself, was petty vandalism...not even a fine if the owner was compensated for the damage. Never mind of course, that nobody actually cared about a fly, and anybody pulling the legs of an expensive 33-S is going bankrupt at the very least...

Damn, I needed to get out more...to more places than work.

I'd go buggo if I stayed here on my own much longer. I needed a hobby. But not right now... now it was time for breakfast in bed and morning TV. Hobbies were expensive for one thing...TV was free once you remembered that unlike the TV license inspectors back home, the NHK man couldn't actually force his way into your apartment, even if he could be a total arse about it.

"_In entertainment news this morning," _the television continued, the female newscaster seeming more rigid and plastic than even a mannequin boomer, beneath what seemed to be a plastic covering of Technicolor makeup, "_Our main story is the shock announcement by pop Artist vision that the remainder of her tour will be cancelled immediately. A spokesman for the singer, who was due to play a concert at Madison Square Gardens later today in New York, has stated that the cancellation was for ' unstated personal reasons' and that 'Vision expresses her deepest apologies to her disappointed fans, and assures that any ticket sales will be refunded without quibble'. Promoters MCD, and GENOM record holdings have indicated they intend to sue for damages,"_

Heh... I wondered if I'll get a case of double vision sometime in the future.

"_In memoriam of the late rocker, environmental activist and former EU president Paul Hewson, Dublin city authorities have renamed one of the cities oldest thoroughfares to 'Bono Street'..."_

Next channel. I hated him with a passion. TNN time, even if it was in Japanese

"...leading to the deaths of 3 ADP officers in the line of duty," a stone-faced man with a grey suit that somehow seemed to match his hair colour carried on where the human doll had been cut off, "Families of the deceased have been notified. The economic costs of the rampage are estimated at over a billion yen in lost property values and business revenues. The damage was limited to low income residential districts in Ota ward..."

Ota ward... I wonder if that means certain things are about to blow up...

Well if they were, it's not ever going to be my problem. Nope, that's a job for the Knight Sabers...not a bartender. Speaking of the Sabers, what did Linna say about Sylia yesterday?

The answer to that question was three sharp, resonating knocks against my steel door. Hollow, like death knocking at the door. I tried to hide behind a bowl of cereal, before realising how stupidly futile that was. Besides, if it was the police, or anyone who wanted to harm me, they could just have smashed the door down, couldn't they? I swallowed my fears, padding across the floor through life's debris

"Gimme a minute," I shouted out.

I was still in my underwear, but no time to get dressed. Whoever they were, they were going to get a pleasant surprise. A mischievous thrill of excitement ran up through my body, there was something terrifically funny about bothering single people in isolation.

I never used to be this mischievous...

Maybe Toren Smiths changes to my mind hadn't just been limited to keeping me from going insane when I saw myself in a mirror. He might have changed my personality too.

Or it could just be boredom?

Then I remembered the last time I'd been bored as hell, and how I'd managed to knock out the electricity to my whole neighbourhood by thinking I could use the three phase electric supply straight off of an ESB junction box to power a shed-built coilgun. It worked for about a half second...

When I got bored, I was positively dangerous.

Stunning innocent randomers with my artificial beauty was almost harmless by comparison, a bit of a double standard when held alongside my opinion on sex... but oddly fun nonetheless. I really didn't understand my head sometimes...

I pulled the door open, gleefully expecting staring eyes and a sudden blush. Instead, I was faced with my own surprised reflection staring back at me from a pair of obsidian sunglasses bisected by a curl of well kept blue hair.

"Oh, Sylia... Hi," I half-muttered, taken aback for a moment.

Well, I'd been expecting her, hadn't I? Sort of.

"Hello, Meg," she said coolly, calmly taking her sunglasses off and placing them in the breast pocket of a classy Italian red jacket. I didn't dare tell her that she looked twice her age... pearls, earrings, hairstyle, they were all far more 'mature' than the person wearing them. She radiated self-confidence, self-reliance and cool calculating determination you'd expect of the model modern businesswoman. There wasn't any scent of hostility, but she might've been able to hide it. With a better handle on myself and my own senses and abilities than our first meeting a month ago, I could tell _something_ was different about her, but not what it was.

"Well..um... come in I guess," I offered... not quite sure what to do from here.

I'd never entertained guests before.

"Thank you, she nodded, following me in.

The door slammed shut under its own power, thanks to a set of carefully maladjusted hinges.

"Sorry about the mess," I rambled, while she left a pair of shoes in the porch that cost more than I'd made in the last month. "I don't have much to sit on; I normally use my bed,"

"It's no problem," demurred Sylia, "I only have a few minutes to talk myself anyway,"

Relief... I tried the button to retract the bed up until the wall... no joy... before pushing the whole lot back up the old fashioned way with a grunt.

"I can coffee if you'd like. And I think the couch is working, not much else here does,"

"Thank you," she nodded, "Two sugars please and milk please,"

I heard her sit down behind me, and felt a mild wave of unfamiliar discomfort wash through the room, before quickly being clamped down on. The kettle was heating up, it really was about the only thing here that was working, and I had some cheap instant coffee kicking around

"The secret to good coffee is to stop the kettle from boiling," I explained, switching it off, "Add the milk, coffee and sugar first to the cup, then the hot water. Anything else burns the coffee and ruins the flavour,"

Especially with instant… boiling water reacted with the binging agent or something… I didn't know what exactly.

"Really?

She didn't sound too convinced, but one sip of my wondrous elixir would change her mind. Definitely. Even if it was just cheap instant, it was the best damn cheap instant in all of MegaTokyo.

"So, how are you doing anyway?" she asked, "I see you've made this place your home."

"Fine, thanks. And sorry about the mess,"

I felt oddly ashamed of it.

"I've seen a lot worse," she reassured me, "It gets hard to keep up with the cleaning when you're busy and single,"

I nodded, stirring both cups.

"Yeah, work is long and doesn't pay well," I said, handing one cup to her.

She held it as if it she was having tea with the King of England. I left mine on the windowsill beside the computer, while trying to find where I'd dumped my jeans yesterday.

"_In technology news," _interrupted the TV, _"Zone Corporation announced commencement of work on what it calls a second gen..."_

Glaring at it, I killed it dead with on stab of the little red power button. And Sylia looked so out of place on the cheap fabric couch...a little like a younger Hyacinth Bucket, but without the snobbery.

"Well, if money is an issue," said Sylia, taking a quick sip from the cup, before looking into it like it was cyanide laced diarrhoea. What did she expect, it was instant. "I might have an offer to interest you,"

I wasn't sure whether to be excited by that or terrified, my mind just went into a spinlock wheeling it over and over again while it tried to figure out just how I should feel about that. Money more important than potential screaming death?

"What..." a little composure, "What sort of job?"

"Irene's _family,_", she chose that word very carefully even though we both knew what she was talking about, "will need help getting her out of the city and away from GENOM's prying eyes. We could do this without you, but I feel that we would have a better chance of success with your help,"

"You want me to be a Saber?"

Her words in the bedroom a month ago ran through my memory. Had Toren Smith gotten into her head somehow? What lengths did he go to, to finagle that out of her?

"No," Sylia shook her head, to my disappointed relief, "But, GENOM knows you have information about our organisation, whether or not anybody within the company believes those disks show the future or not is anybody's guess. There will be enough confirmable information to lead GENOM to suspect you have a source within the company. Then there's the DvD titles themselves, 'The story of the Knight Sabers', altogether that makes you very interesting to certain persons in the company. They might even begin to suspect you are a member of our organisation."

"You told me that a month ago. It's why you kept the wrecked bike, wasn't it?"

I swallowed a mouthful from my own cup. I didn't see what her problem with the coffee was, it tasted fine for cheap-ass instant.

She nodded again. "There aren't many 50-year old EU registered motorcycles in this city,"

"So," I composed the question as carefully as I could in my head, trying not to sound as if I'd already decided, "What is it, exactly, you want me to do?"

"I can't tell you that here. If you want to take the job, you have to go in a little blind,"

Which I took to mean 'You'd probably refuse if I told you.'. This would get me in over my head alright. The fact she wouldn't tell me what the job was, that was good enough reason not to take it. I was too sensible...too normal for that sort of life anyway. Then again, this might be one of those false choices so beloved of Mr. Smith... I couldn't shake the feeling he'd set this up somehow, but I didn't want to push it, not too hard anyway.

"So, can I actually say no?" I enquired. Or was it really just another illusory Hobsons choice where the consequences of refusing where so bad, it was best to just go along with it.

"Of course," answered Sylia, smiling softly at me, "I know you've said you don't want to be a hero, and understand if you don't want to stick your neck out again," mild disappointment flashed across her features, but she clamped down on it, "99 percent of people living in this city are busy just trying to live, taking the safest path to ensure they have food on the table each morning and a roof over their head. We don't begrudge anyone making that choice; they have the right not to risk themselves, or their loved ones. And, it would be more dangerous to have unwilling help, than to have no help whatsoever"

I agreed completely. I had the right not to put myself in another situation where I could get killed, especially after the first time I'd tried to do the heroic thing, I'd nearly gotten myself and the damsel in distress killed. It still stung to think about it.

"If you agree, we'll pay you a fair share for the work, minus the costs of any equipment. We can do it without you, though it would make it much easier to have you onboard for this,"

"Thanks," I smiled, and Sylia gave me a look as if she wasn't quite sure what I was thanking her for, "It's nice to have the choice," I gave a sigh, looking down at my own arm for a moment, as if the answer would be written there for some reason. "What the Knight Sabers do... it...um," how do I put this? "It's dangerous, and it's the sort of life and death danger I'm not sure I can really handle. I mean, I nearly got Irene killed. I was scared as hell outrunning that boomer and..." I swallowed a lump, "...Well.. it didn't really end too well, or you wouldn't have to be here,"

"It ended better than it might have,"

"Yeah," I sighed again, resting back against the concrete wall. "I really need to think about this, I really do. And I have to get ready for work in a couple of hours...and"

How many people have jumped at the call to adventure, only to jump off a cliff?

"You don't need to give me an answer right now," she reassured, "I'm holding a briefing tomorrow evening in my apartment at 7 O'clock, if you want to take part, just show up. If I don't see you there, I'll know your choice. Just head into the store, and let Mackie know that you're looking for a million-yen nightgown, he'll know what you mean,"

I admit to laughing softly at that, maybe because I was still in my nightwear, or maybe because I half expected a nightgown that expensive to actually be available for sale.

"I think I need something better to wear than a sweaty t-shirt alright," I remarked, "But my bank manager, he say no,"

"The dress makes the lady," commented Sylia with a saleswoman's gleam in her eye, "But the underwear makes the woman,"

The factory made me...I went to put my hands in my pockets, but found only soft flesh instead, and a cheap pair of cotton panties.

"I honestly don't know, and silk is a little out of my budget,"

Which was a far more tactful thing than wondering aloud what underwear Sylia was wearing under such a conservative ensemble.

"We don't just sell silk you know, there's a full range for every occasion,"

I just smiled and shook my head slowly. I could watch her staring down at the cup in her hands, longing for another sip of liquid, but wondering if she could stomach another shot of cheap instant.

10:17:38 according to my clock

"I should probably start getting ready for work soon enough in anyways. I'll think about this overnight, I really think I need to take time over this." wait... speaking of work, "How much time will I have to take off work to do this?"

If Ken's reaction to Priss taking a night off was anything to go by, my decision had already been made for me anyway

"You'll need at least until Monday; all things going well," Sylia told me, "Though Ken can be quite accommodating provided you give him fair notice. Just let him know who's called in the favour,"

"I suppose I'll have tell you tomorrow then," I spoke into my cup.

My conscience pushed one way while my head pulled in the other.

"I'll see you tomorrow then," she smiled, scanning around for somewhere proper to place her cup. The floor itself would have to do, it seemed. "Though, there is one more thing. GENOM maintains publicly accessible service records of all boomers they've sold, to combat fencing of spare parts. We've found yours, Meg."

She reached into a leather handbag, placing a piece of fax-paper on the couch beside herself as she stood up,

"I think you should take note of who your first registered owner was. "

"Who?"

"It's on the paper; I won't spoil the surprise,"

I frowned playfully. She just shrugged lightly.

"Goodbye, Meg. I'll see you tomorrow,"

Wait...

"Maybe," I corrected, "I don't know yet,"

See gave me a knowing smile, her eyes sparking as she seemed to read thoughts in myself I didn't know I was having. "See you..."

And then she left, the steel door slamming shut again behind her and leaving me alone.

I stood by the window for a moment; listening to her stiletto'd footsteps as they receded into the background noise of the city. The fax still lingered on my couch. What was so surprising Sylia thought it would be fun to find out for myself?

Could my previous owner have been none other than Brian J. Mason himself? That'd be a wonderful mind-screwing irony, wouldn't it? Would I really want to know that for sure? Yes, actually... A wave of insatiable curiosity washed over me... I had to know and I had to know _now. _Picking the paper up, I noted it had been translated into clean English.

I read it.

**I...I**

GENOM® Official HPI Report:

Issue Date: 26/06/32_  
Model number:_ BU-33-S_  
Chassis number: _33DB-26DH-30WF-42KZ-10D9-7X49-AKRD-108._  
Chassis type: _ACSX-MEG-DECKARD_  
AI-type:_ 11 MMX-NEXUS._  
Rating:_ Level 7A_  
Manufacture date: _10/02/2029_  
Place of Manufacture:_ GENOM Production Control Centre. Megatokyo City. Japan._  
_

_Original customer order:_ Tet Corporation LLC._  
Customer number: _19099ak421375a_  
Delivery date: _19/02/2029_  
Delivery Address: _2 Hammarskjöld Plaza, Manhattan, New York City, New York State, United States of America._  
_

_Most recent registered owner_: Tet Corporation LLC as of February 2032._  
Most recent service at authorised _GENOM® _dealer_: 22/02/2032_  
Condition most recent service:_ Excellent._  
_

_Current registered owner_: None:(In transit)

Notes: Unit declared exempt from BTO A33S-801 by reason of academic research.

(Remember, use only genuine _new_ GENOM parts to ensure the safe and reliable operation of your boomer)

**I...I**

Well... I could see why Sylia wanted that to be a surprise. It'd probably never have an affect on my day to day life, but there was something dreadfully unsettling about this sudden reappearance of Tet. I'd heard nothing from them since that letter in Sylia's apartment, and for that I'd been thankful. And worse...I was used...

What happened to me...or this body...before I arrived?

I couldn't answer that question; it just lingered in the air. There were no scars, no marks and no signs of three years wear and tear anywhere

Another question nagged.

Why was Sylia treating me like I was human?

If anybody else knew who or what I was, I'd be treated as no different from a bloody toaster. Just what was going on behind those eyes? She had a definite reason; I didn't think she was just being polite...

Best not to look a gift horse in the mouth, I decided.

As if to illustrate how much of a machine I was, the diagnostic I started rang up complete.

Some blood contamination, but well within tolerances.

A slight electrolyte imbalance, but that was liveable.

And the estimated repair time for my twisted ankle was going to remain infinite unless I got off my feet for a few hours and let it repair itself.

Otherwise, I was in fine fettle.

I had to go to work. And regardless of what choice I made in the end, I was going to have to ask for that time off tonight.

What should I do?

Follow my conscience, my gut instinct that says helping Irene is the right thing to do, regardless of money?

Or take the sensible, safe path? Protect my job, project my body and protect the life I was just settling in to?

And then... a million yen? Okay, Sylia hadn't outright said it, but that was the low hanging fruit. That's certainly make life easier. It'd be more than enough for a flight home.

But then, I can't exactly go home if I get myself killed, can I?

And I still wasn't looking forward to asking for that time off.

**I...I**

A nightmare

I waited. The lights above me blinked and sparked out of the air. There were Boomers in the base. I didn't see them, but had expected them now for days. My warnings to Sylivia Stingrey were not listenend to and now it was too late. Far too late for now, anyway.  
I was a Night Sabre for fourteen days. When I was young I watched the animé and I said to dad "I want to be on the anime daddy."  
Dad said "No! You will BE KILL BY BOOMERS"  
There was a time when I believed him. Then as I got oldered he stopped. But now in the space station base of the SDPC he knew there were boomers.  
"This is Stingrey" the radio crackered. "You must fight the boomers!"  
So I gotted my hurdsait and blew up the wall.  
"IT GOING TO KILL US" said the boomers  
"I will shoot at it" said the cyberdroid and he fired the rocket missiles. I plasmaed at him and tried to blew him up. But then the ceiling fell and they were trapped and not able to kill.  
"No! I must kill the boomers" I shouted  
The radio said "No, Meg. You are the boomers"  
And then…

…my alarm clock went off. It was going to be a long Friday

**I...I**

Firstly, Midnight Express is a song by and Irish Band called _The Saw Doctors_. It might be on Youtube or pirated somewhere; you'd never find a disk of it in the States, or anywhere else in the world for that matter.

Second: Typo's are the devil.

Third: I did build a coilgun. It did sort of disappear in a blazing arc of electric fire… I wasn't holding it at the time, and I didn't plug it into a junction box, I used the 3-phase supply in the shed. The theory behind it was sound, I was trying to build a linear induction motor sort of thing… but my maths was off. There some wafflings on it in the thread at The_fanfiction_forum. I post snippets there if anybody wants to see them… under animé previews.

Fourth: Yes that is the same Tet corporation. Don't spoiler it for those here who don't know. And feel free to correct the address.

-Dartz


	3. Chapter 3

_Yours Truly, 2032_

Yet another BubbleGum Crisis SI, in the traditional form

Bubblegum Crisis....(c) Artmic/Youmex.  
I'm just borrowing this for a while, for some Fair Deal fun.  
Mmmkay?

Big Thank You to Antagonist, and the folks at TFF for taking a look see over this.

3: Riders on the Storm.

-----

Work didn't give me much time to think, and for that I was thankful. I didn't get any extra pay for covering for Priss, but I was able to get the time off. As Ken always said, "Never refuse your landlord"

That and he owed me one for covering on such short notice. I still hadn't decided whether I was actually going to use it or not. I'd be down 2-3 days pay, at least, though time off to rest would be nice. I'd been hoping to do some of the monthly checks and maintenance an artificial body demanded on Sunday, maybe I could get that done sooner.

33-S were maintenance free in theory only. GENOM released software updates on the last Friday of the month and I was a few months behind. There was also some contamination of my bloodstream thanks to the city air, but nothing serious and I needed to add some metals to my diet. It was really an excuse to laze around in my nightwear for a day, rather than go shopping for food, do laundry, or any of the other necessities of life.

I had the whole weekend off work now to do all of that.

I still hadn't decided if I was going to take Sylia's offer or not. A million yen was a lot of money, and I wanted to get Irene out of the city.... but what I wanted didn't really matter when it came to risking my neck and the life I was starting.

Friday morning and I still hadn't decided for sure.

My goal was to get home... and I was slowly scratching together the price of a plane ticket. Maybe six months, a year and I'd have what I needed. Just because this wasn't _my_ universe, or whatever, didn't mean it wasn't my home. It was the closest I'd get for the time being anyway, barring a random door on a beach.

A million yen would do it in a heartbeat. A weekend's work for 10,000 €, or thereabouts? That'd be First class return flights all the way there and back. Why back to MegaTokyo? In case I didn't like what I found when I got home, that's why. I had a life of sorts here, and I didn't want to strand myself away from it. I may have been a little homesick, but I did like living here.

Do I really want to risk that life entirely, though?

I didn't have any _useful_ skills, not from a high-tech vigilante standpoint anyway. I didn't have Sylia's leadership or Priss' combat abilities. I didn't have Nené's hacking and computer skills, or Linna's agility and grace. My technical knowledge was two decades out of date... except with regards to 33-S boomers.... my riding skills were marginal, and I'd never fired a gun in my life.

Yeah... I was genre-savvy enough to know that I'd be the redshirt... I'd be going along only to show just how dangerous the situation was for the main characters by snuffing it. While Sylia might be genuine in her intentions, the universe would have its own ideas.

And then I realised I was just being paranoid and stupid... forgetting that this wasn't some OVA series, but a living, breathing world where I lived.

Repeat _ad nauseum._

That was all I could think about for most of Friday. It was a never ending loop, hogging more and more of my processing time, and giving me headaches.

Truth was, I really didn't know what I wanted to do. I spent my life taking the safe path, and I was content with that. Here I was, doing the same thing... settling into the same routine day in and day out.

I was a completely different person, living a new life in a new universe. I could change every single thing about myself, and who I was. Meg Deckard had no history, no life before May 28th 2032. People would kill for this sort of opportunity, a chance to be a new person, a chance to make some changes in the very fabric of who I was.

I had a blank sheet of paper to write my future on.

The face I saw in the mirror was different, but I was still doing the same things, making the same choices. I wanted to say mistakes, but I genuinely didn't see them as such. I wanted to do something different, but 'different' was dangerous, and danger was bad.

Story of my life really. And there I was, writing it again... almost a carbon copy...only the names and places were different. So why didn't I do the safe thing that first night and run as far away from Irene as possible?

If I'd done the 'safe thing', I'd probably be sleeping in a back alley with no roof over my head with only a bike and an empty petrol tank for company...or much worse. I took the risk, and was rewarded for it, with a house, a job, and a start at life. Of course, I nearly got myself killed... and then my mind circled right back to the start again.

It was 5 o'clock on Friday afternoon, and I'd just finished dinner. As usual, some of it had gotten stuck in my canines, but I'd worked out an easier and less painful way of getting it out. Instead of poking it out with toothpicks, I stood over the sink, set the tap running, and blasted my teeth clear with a high pressure spray of blood. It wasn't more than a few millilitres, but it did the job.... even if perfluorocarbons tasted like steel mixed with sickening chemical disinfectant.

Something about what I'd just done though, made me pause. Watching the almost pink liquid swirl around the drain, drying a few stray drops off of my lips, I thought of Sylvie and Anri.

I felt strangely guilty, and I wasn't sure why.

Because I am free now...

I am free too. Freer than I should be.

Suddenly I switched to a different tack.

What do I most want to do? What would be the best ending for me?

I almost berated myself for going back to the whole 'this isn't a TV show' train of thought. But, if 'all the world's a stage' as the Bard once wrote, and we're just characters acting out a story for some sadistic God's amusement, what do I have to do to get the best ending for myself, to fulfil what was most important to me at that moment?

Then I had my answer.

-----

There was the Lady633, glittering in the early evening sun, the glass walls of Sylia's penthouse reflecting the streets below, the heavy evening traffic clogging everything up...as usual. I'd been standing across the road from _The SilkyDoll _for nearly ten minutes watching the odd customer take a break from their rush home, wondering if I really was making the right choice here.

I could see shadows moving around inside, filtering through lace bodices and satin nightgowns.

18:43:37

I swallowed my dinner again, for the second time in as many minutes. I _want_ to do this. I _want_ to help Irene. I _want_ to get enough money to go home. And the way to do that was across the road and through that revolving door.

Alright, here goes nothing.

Just try not to get run over crossing the road. Traffic had ground right to a halt. Just watch for bikers filtering, or anybody making a jump for a lane, and done. I stood right in front of the door, desperate not to throw up. A granny... who looked old enough to remember World War 2...shuffled out, with what looked like a pink lace nightie in her bag. She gave me a mischievous wink and the devil's own grin, before hobbling off to wherever she wanted to go.

The underwear makes the woman, huh?

I still didn't get it.

I tried to picture myself wearing some of the things in the window, but my body in anything remotely lacy just seemed hilariously inappropriate. My usual jacket and jeans combo was fine... and what was the point of sexy underwear if nobody would ever see it on me anyway?

Well, swallow my fears and push through the door. I want to do this.... I _want_ to do this.... And the more I repeat it, the more I believe it.

I didn't feel ashamed because I was standing in a lingerie shop, I felt ashamed because I was standing in an _expensive_ lingerie shop. I felt a little like a Fiat owner in a Ferrari dealership. There wasn't _anything_ here I could afford. Even the bargain bucket had a label on it with a number larger than the amount I had in my wallet.

I felt strangely small, and impossibly jealous of some jeans-wearing woman rooting gleefully through. There was nothing like not being able to have something to make you ache for it, even if you didn't actually want or need it.

I forced my focus away from the racks of delicates.... I was here for a job. Mackie was standing behind the till, looking half asleep in his mechanics dungarees. Last chance to turn back, I told myself. I had an escape plan. Just check the price of something, act shocked and stroll out the door never to hear from Sylia again.

With each step, the sensible voice in my head told me that Mackie hadn't seen me, that I could still leave. "Do you really want this sort of life?", it asked. "Really? No... Not really... I didn't want to be shot at. I didn't want to get stabbed by a boomer's needle nails, I didn't want to get blown to pieces by a grenade. I did want a million yen. I did want to get Irene out of this city... I didn't want that lingering on my conscience every day for the next 34 years.

Is that your final answer?

Yes!... Yes it is! I only have to do this once, just this one time, then I'll have enough to get home, to get a new bike, and maybe make life a little more comfortable on top of that. Just this one time...

In the same way the journey into hell always starts with just one single step.

"Excuse me Miss, can I help you?"

"Too late!" screamed the sensible voice, a bolt of terror shooting up my back.

I wished to God I could find some way to shut that voice up. Okay... here I am... what was Sylia's code-phrase again? I leant down against the counter trying to remember it. The sensible voice had changed the bloody filename to hide it, hadn't it?

"I am looking for million yen nightgown, I was told talk you," my voice was shaking as I spoke. The boy mechanic's eyes were fixed at a point a few inches below my chin, "And my face up here," I added deadpan, pointing to my cheekbone.

"Um...Sorry," the boy gulped, his eyes darting up to mine.

I could sense the fires of teenage passion roaring within him, touching off that mischievous spark lingering deep within me. I knew what my revenge would be. I stared right into his eyes, deliberately stoking the flames with savage glee. I could see the hot embarrassed blush spreading across his cheeks, burning red. I knew what I was doing and I loved it. It was my power and I would revel in it. It was my strength, my special ability, the one thing I could do which no-one else could. My confidence rose up behind me, power flooding my veins, beating him down into the ground.

And I knew from personal experience that the best way to get revenge on a teenage boy was to stoke his fires, and leave him without a fire extinguisher. I'd been on the receiving end more than once...

"You are boy, you can not help it," I waved it off with a polite smile, backing off the throttle just enough so he didn't blow up. "Now, can you help me?"

He swallowed the lust building in his body, "Sis is waiting for you," he stuttered, "You have to go to the stockroom and ring the bell on the elevator," he swallowed again, trying desperately to keep his eyes on my face, "Just let her know you're here and what you're looking for,"

"Thank you," I grinned, backing everything off.

I left him there in a bad way, and with a few moments hindsight, I felt the first butterflies of guilt begin to flutter up. Here I am getting all hung up on how disgusting sex and stuff would be, and I leave a teenage boy standing in a lingerie shop still burning with lust.

I don't understand my head sometimes.

And worst of all, I was a traitor to mankind... 'Though how could I be a traitor if I wasn't even human anymore?' asked another part of my mind. Besides, what I did to him would've worked if he'd been girl, or if I'd been a male model. Hell, that might've been funnier... to leave the boy with gender identity issues too.

Jesus Christ when did I get so cruel?

Surrounded by boxes of panties, I was giggling quietly into one hand while I pressed the call button for the lift. Maybe nervousness was a contagious disease, and the best way to get rid of it was to offload it to some other poor sod. And just not think about it. Already a few sharp pangs of fear were starting to bite deep, with a few more nips when Sylia's voice answered through a small metalplate speaker.

"Stingray, who is it?" it asked in tinny, transistorised tones.

"It is Deckard," I said, my words straining taught, "I am here for million yen nightwear,"

"Oh Meg, I knew you'd come," said the speaker with calm cheerfulness, "We're all up here waiting, I'll send the elevator down to meet you,"

"Thanks,"

Oh hell....

A brick wall of apprehension slammed into me.

This was really it now. The brushed metal doors opened, a soft electric chime beckoning me in. "Abandon hope all ye who enter here," I muttered to myself, stepping inside the mirror lined carriage.

My own reflections stretched off into infinity all around me, each one illuminated by a train of spotlights, giving me headaches as my systems tried to analyse each and every one, checking for any potential threats. I focused my gaze dead on my shadow staring back at me from the shot-peened door. I'm doing this... I'm _really_ doing this. Excitement warred with terror. I was going to see the Knight Sabers.. I was going to see the real-steel hardsuits.... I was going to get shot at, chased and generally placed in extreme mortal peril some time over the next three days.

And it was much too late to do anything about it.

"Bloody hell.... oh bloody hell,"

My voice was shaking like a leaf in a gale. I tried to call up that same confident surge I'd felt when I'd 'embarrassed' Mackie... I tried to swallow all my fears and compress them down into a little ball deep in my stomach. I tried to be the fiery, self-confident redhead I'd obviously been built to be.

All my fears lurched up the back of my throat, trying to spray themselves across the door when the lift finally juddered to a halt. My hands were shaking. Ashamed, I jammed them hard into my pockets. Shivers and chills ran helter-skelter through my body.... and I wasn't even in any actual danger yet.

Another electric chime, followed by the hollow rumble of the doors splitting themselves open, and I was faced with Sylia standing there, waiting for me. How she managed to look so elegant despite a bare cleavage and midriff I didn't know... but God damn. It must've been Sylia's special ability, or some sort of forcefield effect caused by the shimmering pearls on her earrings.

"Good evening, Meg." she greeted with incongruously cool warmth "The rest of the team is in the living room waiting, with tea, coffee and cakes if you'd like,"

"Thanks," I nodded, swallowing a lump, following her through a short hallway.

"That was very cruel what you did to Mackie, by the way," she said with the mildest disapproval, "He has to stay down there for another two hours like that,"

I gave a bark of a laugh, finding the thought of the poor kid standing there all hot and bothered in a lingerie shop, with shapely women measuring silken delicates up against their ample figures, absolutely hilarious. Sylia agreed with a polite alto chuckle, hidden behind her right hand.

"Well, he will not stare again," I stated,

"Yes, he will,"

Somehow, she seemed more at ease in her own apartment, more relaxed and unguarded. I tried to read her again, but the only signals I got back told me she was human, and even then I wasn't too sure about her. There was something 'off' about her... and I still couldn't place what it was. It wasn't like she was a cyberised human being....they were usually more obvious... she was just _different,_ almost on the lip of the pheromone uncanny-valley

I glanced at a photograph hanging on the wall, of a young girl in a polka dot sundress standing beside a scientist...who if he'd been wearing something other than a white labcoat, might've looked like he'd belong on stage with ELO with those sunglasses and pushbroom moustache. I wondered if Sylia's strange signals had anything to do with her father.... but that's the sort of question you'd never ask a person.

I followed her into a living room smelling of polish, hot bread and coffee, plush leather sofa's and...oddly... motorcycle exhaust. The three women of the Knight Sabers were arrayed before me, with the Koyaanisqatsi vista of evening MegaTokyo with its lights slowly flickering to life as a backdrop

"....so the asshole just pulled right out on me... without even looking," Priss complained, "he was lucky I didn't spear through his door, but the GP-z was a write-off. Sorry Mate I Didn't See You was all the blind asshole had to say for himself."

Some things, I guess, never changed. I lost my first bike the exact same way.... two weeks after I'd gotten it.

"Well maybe you should drive slower," piped up Nené, mouth full of scone, "Another speeding offence and you'll be limited to whatever speed the bus travels at,"

"Damn it" growled Priss... "And if you keep eating those scones, your weight will limit your hardsuit's speed too."

Sylia interrupted with a cough, placing a single hand on my shoulder. Electricity flowed from her fingertips, and I felt my whole body tense up with lightning fear.

"I assume you've all met Meg Deckard, she'll be joining us for this mission. Now, if you'll take a seat Meg, we'll get started,"

The way Sylia was speaking, you'd swear she was starting a weekly book club meeting. And that's almost what it felt like, with Nené sitting on a couch beside a silent television in her AD Police uniform, Linna on a single armchair with her handbag beside her, and Priss on the other armchair wearing her crash-scarred red leathers ....and a scuffed Shoei helmet on the floor beside her hard-booted foot.

She was glaring at me through her fringe, chilling the entire room with her gaze.

"Hi," I said meekly, and took the opposite end of the couch between the ADP officer and the food. Comfy....so comfy and soft I could melt into it.

"Don't get between Nené and the food, or she'll eat you too," teased Linna.

"Oh shut up will you!" snapped back the wounded policewoman, "I've had less doughnuts in my life than you've had boyfriends in the last week."

The dancer turned red with rage. "I'm between stages in my life, while you're between dress sizes..."

"Ladies," chimed Sylia in, with a gentle tap on the brakes.

"I live alone, and get no larger" I stated... completely butchering what I'd meant to say anyway.

"And you won't get a boyfriend if you keep wearing cheap unflattering clothes like that denim," jibed Linna.

I scowled, but before I could compose anything resembling a reply, Sylia finally jammed on hard with another harsh "Ladies!" in a tone that reminded me of a teacher I once knew.

"Now then, we can begin,"

Today's book is 'Small team tactics in an urban environment by former SAS member Ryan McDodd' I remarked internally. I didn't dare say that out loud, but with a little human interaction my fears had begun to melt away. Right until Sylia pulled a screen down out of the roof and the lights died. The windows themselves dimmed, turning almost opaque, flooding the room with darkness before a single projector lens in the roof whirred to life, casting the spotlight on the Knight Sabers' leader.

"As I'm sure you all know, about a month ago, a Bu-33-C model boomer under GENOM control made an attempt on the life of Irene Can. Fortunately, this was foiled," she looked down at me, her face still as warm as if she was giving a reading from her book of the month, not a military-style briefing to three vigilantes and a redshirt, "though not without injury to Irene herself,"

That knot in my stomach started to return, and I crossed my legs trying to keep it inside.

"Sometime afterwards, I was in contact with Irene's family in Hong Kong, who requested our help extracting her from the city. We will be receiving our standard fee for this mission, and each of you will receive an equal percentage share, minus any equipment costs,"

I could see Linna counting it out on her fingertips, joyfully figuring numbers in her head. Priss' eyes shone with reflected light through her cowlick fringe like a demon's

"Originally, it was planned to be a straightforward dropoff at a safehouse organised by the family deep in the fault, but four days ago, I received a disturbing message from my contact in the family, indicating that they had discovered a leak within their organisation, and that the details of the handover, including time, date and location had been given to GENOM,"

Somebody grumbled about security, while I retreated quietly back into my chair and stole a scone to munch on. This was for real alright.

"Therefore, we had to modify the original plan somewhat, to account for this. GENOM does not know we have discovered the leak yet," her eyes took on an almost mischievous gleam, "so we can use this to our advantage. We plan to proceed with the original dropoff, and ambush whatever forces GENOM sends, using it as cover, while Irene is driven in a covert vehicle to Megatokyo international airport."

I had a sudden terrible realisation as to why they would want a redshirt along on this mission, a redshirt whom GENOM had descriptions of. Terror warred with anger warred with my lunch, trying to explode out my mouth at once. I forced it down with another mouthful of cake, while Nené reached awkwardly across me to steal another for herself.

"With luck, she will be on her way out of the city before GENOM even realises they've been led into an ambush."

"We can do that ourselves, so why is Miss Ghost in the Shell here?" asked Priss.

I'd never have thought the word Ghost could have as much venom as it did right then. Linna was surprised, but I could tell she'd been wondering the same thing.

"I am bait," I said, sounding as sour as you'd expect anyone to be about it.

"I wouldn't put it like that exactly," said Sylia diplomatically, " but that is essentially correct. GENOM knows Meg here has something to do with Irene, and that motorcycle she was riding is very distinctive. Together, they make a very trackable target."

I sat there, chilled to the bone by how coldly cheerful she was as she signed my death warrant. Or maybe I'd signed it myself when I agreed to take this job in the first place.

"She's turning green," giggled Nené.

"That's enough," chided Sylia, "The basic plan is one of misdirection. Mackie will drive the Silky Wagon to the hospital, with Linna in the passenger compartment wearing her hardsuit, just in case... I've arranged a donation of some _delicates_ to the hospital. Meg will arrive outside the front of the hospital with her motorcycle and wait there for Priss, who will ride with her as pillion passenger,"

"Hey, why amn't I riding?" demanded the singer,

"Because, you look a good deal like Irene... close enough to pass for her while wearing motorcycle leathers anyway. Besides, this is only a case of riding from A to B, from the hospital to the safehouse, it shouldn't require any advanced skills." It almost seemed like Sylia was trying to reassure me as she answered Priss' question, "With Meg riding, and yourself as Pillion, GENOM should believe that it is Meg and Irene on the motorcycle. With a little luck, they will ignore the Silky Wagon."

That made sense. Even if I was the maggot on the end of the hook. And bullet damage wasn't covered by my manufacturer's warranty.

"Now then," continued Sylia, "Meg and Priss will ride to the safehouse, here at the Kilmer building in District 29,"

"Excuse me," I chipped in as politely as I could, "What is stop GENOM from shooting on road?"

Why wouldn't they just shoot the pair of use while we were riding? I mean, that's rule one in the evil-genius guidebook, isn't it? 'Just shoot 'em!'

"Nothing," smiled Sylia, "But they have the chance to take _us_ out, and strike a blow against Irene's family, we can assume that's not something they'll pass up lightly,"

I had a lovely quote about how assume makes an ass out of you and me, but I held my tongue. Besides, the pun wouldn't translate across languages anyway. At least Priss seemed to feel as sour about it as I did. She had a look on her face as if I'd flared up some dark memory, and I think I knew what it might've been.

"The safehouse itself will be empty," Sylia carried on, "Trying to take on combat boomers in such close quarters will be a bloodbath, it plays too heavily to their strengths. There will be a single saferoom, up two flights of stairs. Inside will be your hardsuit, Priss, and some weapons and body armour for Meg in case she needs them."

Dear God... real weapons... supersonic spinning lumps of copper-jacketed lead, not just some airsoft plastic pellet shooters. I was in way over my head, and sinking so deep I couldn't see the surface. I had no hope of getting away, no hope at all. This was stupid, this has to be the dumbest thing I've ever done. I couldn't go back now... I couldn't walk out. The door was right there. I didn't think Sylia or anyone would outright kill me... but at the same time, I didn't think I'd make it through that door without a fight. With no way back, I just had to push forward and hope I got through it.

Easier said than done.

"Irene's family will set up crossfire across the street from the tops of the surrounding buildings. Myself and Nené in our hardsuits will take on whatever they cannot handle,"

Nené winced.

"This should give Priss time to get ready, and Meg time to go to ground away from the fight. Don't try to get involved," she warned me specifically,

I just nodded. Not a problem, definitely not a problem. Never will be a problem.

"Meanwhile, Mackie, Linna and the Silky Wagon should have reached MegaTokyo airport, and Irene will have boarded her flight out of the city,"

Provided the flight isn't delayed.

"Any questions so far?" Sylia finished.

I had another scone. It helped keep my fears in my stomach, and not all over Sylia's carpet. I didn't have any questions anyway... I understood what I was supposed to do. The logical part of my mind understood why Sylia had made the choices she'd made. Everything made sense. That was the worst part of it... there was no room whatsoever to argue my way out of it. Surprisingly though, Nené's hand popped up.

"Why can't I stay on the truck with Mackie?" she asked. "Why do I have to take part in the ambush?"

I loved her for it. I wanted to use each and every one of my sexaroid abilities to make her life a wondrous ride of nothing but ecstatic pleasure from now until eternity because of it. Nené was as nervous as I was. I could see it flickering behind her green eyes, sense it radiating off of her body. She had as much love for being a frontline fighter as I did.... I was so glad I wasn't alone in my feelings. Misery loves company.

"Because I need your ECM and ECCM abilities to hide our ambush," was Sylia's answer. Nené just ate another scone... swallowing the miniature cake practically whole. She was doing the same thing I was, I guessed. The only difference being that her fears went straight to her hips.

"Now then, let's have a cup of coffee, and we can work out the details of this together,"

And then I learned why she'd hated my instant. Proper brewed coffee, the real deal. It was exquisite. It helped at least keep my mind level and centred while the five of us went through dates, times, routes and costumes. The basic plan was pretty simple, but the devil was in the details. Sylia's planning was impossibly meticulous... she accounted for everything... it was astonishing, it was impressive, it was well beyond something a normal person could do. If GENOM did attack before the ambush, we were to make a run for it. If myself and Priss were killed outright, the ambush would be scrubbed, but the mission would still succeed. I shuddered quietly through that scenario. If they didn't take the bait at all, I was to proceed as if they did. If they started following the truck, Mackie was to drive to the ambush point, while I'd have to run through the city at high speed to get Priss to her hardsuit before the truck made it.

For the mission,_ that_ was the worst case scenario and that was made clear

Sylia played each of our strengths to a tee. Priss could fight without her hardsuit, from the back of a motorcycle if needed. Linna was capable enough to hold her own if the truck itself was attacked, and she knew Irene personally. Nené would keep the entire ambush hidden, even if she couldn't hold her own in a fight and myself... I looked noticeable, could handle an ancient dinosaur of a bike with quirky customised controls that had puzzled Priss, and had the ultimate virtue of being expendable. Even if Sylia had taken into account the fact that I'd never fired a gun in my life when she'd given me a choice of weapons.

Real guns, the real steel. Real grenades too. I'd been a bastard for using them in Counter Strike... and while this wasn't CS in any way at all, it was the only frame of reference I had that was in anyway close to actual fighting. I didn't dare tell anyone how shite I used to be at FPS's.

There was something about all the planning though, the rumination over each and every detail...even if the other women talked about them with the same ease as if they were discussing plot points in a novel.... that made me feel a lot more at ease with what I'd gotten myself into. Not quite to the point of being comfortable, but close enough to the point where I thought I might at least be able to do it. I might live through this yet.

There was just one slight problem I had to sort out before the mission on Monday morning, my bike needed to be repaired. Since the crash, it had been stored in Raven's garage, down in Timex city.... and since I was the only person alive who had half an idea just what sort of 'customisations' I'd done to the electronics of the thing, I had to help... in between basic familiarisation with the principles of firearm use and a few other little details.

It was well after 1am when the three Knight Sabers left... I stayed behind for a few minutes at Sylia's request, digesting what exactly I had just gotten myself involved in.

"So, how are you feeling, Meg?" she enquired, placing another cup of steaming black liquid in my hands. I looked up at her for a moment, receiving a softly compassionate smile back. Controlled and chilled enough to make me wonder if it was genuine or not, but still welcome.

"I think Priss doesn't like me," was all I could really say.

"She just needs to get used to you, that's all," the leader of the Knight Sabers told me. "I want to know how you're doing, if you still feel capable of playing your part,"

"It's too late to back out now, isn't it?" I asked my reflection in the coffee.

Sylia nodded gently, "But I can still try finding a way to ease any undue burdens,"

"I'm fine," I swallowed that lie, "Just not used to this is all," I took one great gulp, leaving the cup half empty. "I do feel better... I really do,"

She didn't look like she believed that. I took a deep, calming breath, feeling my belly quiver gently.

"You don't look fine,"

"I want to do this," I told her. "I just don't want to die is all."

"You won't" she stated with absolute confidence, "We rely on each other. We protect each other, and for this mission that includes you,"

I nodded again, searching for an answer I could give.

"Thanks," I offered eventually.

"You're welcome,"

I downed the last of the coffee and pulled myself up off of the couch.

"I better be going anyway," I said... half hoping to avoid any more awkward questions, "I'd like to get some sleep before tomorrow, long day and all y'know,"

I was nervous as hell, desperate to get out of there, and it was blindingly obvious.

"Goodbye, Meg. I'll see you tomorrow,"

And that was that.

I was on the mission. No going back. I said I was going to do it. No way out now. It was only on the train on the way home, drenched in the harsh fluorescent lights of the carriage, that I realised something else:

Sylia had known what my answer would be before she'd even asked the question.

How the hell did she do that?

That woman was a mystery, encased in an enigma, wrapped up in a puzzle and dressed up in a very fine ladies suit. She spoke as if she had planned out each and every thing she wanted to say, each and every branch of the conversation.

But that was impossible.

But how else could she answer each and every question as if she'd been expecting it? How else could she speak as if she'd spent hours considering each and every sentence?

I suddenly felt like a sheep all over again.

-----

I didn't go to sleep that night. Technically I didn't really need it; I didn't get tired in the human way. Sleep still brought benefits I'd miss, but it also brought nightmares. Interrupted sleep was worse than no sleep... I'd learned that when I'd jumped awake one night after being chased to my death by the ADP, to find that my heart had been stopped while muscle in the left ventricle was regenerated.

I watched late night television, following the Polar war on one of the late night news channels, another corporate conflict brewing in the Philippines, Israel, Iran and Iraq tearing shades out of each other and a UN conference chaired by an elderly Edward James Olmos and the surviving cast of Battlestar Galactica on mankind's attitude towards boomers, and how they had to learn the lessons hundreds of sci-fi writers had already offered. This was followed by one Kate Madigan of GENOM explaining just how leveraged the world's economy was on the availability of cheap manual labour. The problem then was separating the genuine toasters, the mannequins who gaze emptily back at you, from the truly intelligent... like myself and other low-restriction type-11 models. How do you legally define awareness in a boomer?

That was a puzzle the EC was spending millions to find out... spurred by a political desire to give GENOM a boot in the hole whenever possible and save as much traditional European industries as they could.

Some Churches solved it by simply saying that any cyberdroid who wished to join the church, and understood what that meant, was allowed to do so. After all, if humanity are God's children, given life by God, and Boomers are the 'children' of humanity, given life by man, wouldn't that make them God's grandchildren? The soul was a matter of faith, rather than a matter of science after all.

Tellingly though, there were no artificial Priests or Imams.

Elsewhere, Africans still starved in their millions, the Middle East was burning since the oil-money dried up, China's economy imploded after cheap boomer labour became common and South America only showed up on the radar whenever there was a bloody coup somewhere. The US presidential race between McClane and Gruber was heating up and the most important news story of the day was how Hollywood actress' Norma Hart's fifth marriage had broken up acrimoniously after 4 weeks.

Funny.... despite the exploding supertechnology, cybervigiliantes and megacorporations pulling the strings, the world of 2032 wasn't really that different to the one I'd left. Aside from the World Trade Centre still standing in New York, and Iran and Israel being oil-and-water allies somehow, the world was strangely similar. Decadence, disaffection with authority, technology still running rampant and the basic human being reduced to nothing more than a cash carrying consumer by corporate marketing. Not so different from 2010 at all then.

Maybe that's why I slipped into this sort of world so easily, the world I'd been living in wasn't really that different, once you got down to the nuts and bolts of it.

Except for GENOM, or Grievously Expensive Never Operating Mannequins, as the more humorous observers would have it.

In many ways, GENOM defied 2010 descriptions. It was to the entire world, what Microsoft was to PC's, Intel was to chip design, O2 was to mobile phone networks, General Motors was to car design, Monsanto was to agriculture, and Google was to information management and control; and it was all of them together under the same umbrella brand of GENOM. It was omnipresent. _I_ was a GENOM product, built at the GPCC centre just south of the city. Any other corporation could compete with GENOM in one market sector... if two tried to band together and support each other, as seemed like the logical thing, GENOM was quick to launch antitrust proceedings, while fighting off the same allegations itself, and disappearing its competitors out of the market by taking embrace, extend, extinguish to deadly levels.

And I was going to be taking this monster conglomerate on…

Oh Hell.

I downloaded some software updates while I watched, feeling the servers at some GENOM data farm somewhere nearby finger themselves around inside my skull to determine just what sort of patching I needed.

Lying in bed with a Cat-5 running to one arm, browsing the web inside my head while I waited for the updates to download themselves, that was the life. No more reading, no more scrolling through pages… the information was there for instant comprehension.

If it hadn't have been for the popups and advertisements infecting my thoughts, it would've been the perfect way to browse the web. I didn't want cyber-breast enhancement surgery for one thing, and I certainly didn't need full body prosthetics or a love life enhancement, and I didn't want to think about it. One of those I didn't want, and two I didn't need.

My boobs were just right. Not too soft, not firm. Not too bouncy when I jogged so that they hurt my back. Not so stiff that they looked like a Barbie-doll's. Just lovely, warm, sensitive and snuggly.

What I needed was some sort of instant combat skills download, maybe Eddie Lawson riding skills, and something to put between the muzzle of a gun and my vulnerable flesh that might actually have a chance of stopping a bullet.

"No flag has ever stopped a bullet, from a gun,"

I laughed at my attempt at Phil Lynott. The air-conditioner answered with a click, a pop, and a fizz as it died once more.

Well, at least I'll be doing something different, I suppose.

And the more I thought about it, the safer I felt. If everything went well, I wasn't supposed to have to fire a shot… just cover Priss for about a minute while she gets her hardsuit ready, then hide in the saferoom. The enemy wasn't even supposed to reach the building…. They'd be dead before they reached the front door, all going well.

I had to cover 1 door for 1 minute with 1 idiot-proof gun…

Seemed almost easy.

Provided the enemy took the bait. Provided they didn't just shoot us on the bike. Provided the ambush went off perfectly…. Provided a lot of things….

This is so fucking screwed up. Maybe I can get away with just not getting out of bed in the morning? At least I only had to worry about it for the next 2 days.

I clicked the news off, and set off channel hopping, looking for something to distract my mind. Funny, hentai just wasn't interesting anymore when you knew it would void your warranty, or that you could do better without the tentacles. Next…Talk show, _Neon Genesis Evangelion_ reruns, ADP on the beat, _Sazae-san_, TT-rerun, a programme on boomer development, GENOM advertisements about assembling prosperity, and so on…

Fuckall worth watching.

3:27:49 am…

I'd normally only be getting in from work at that time

I'm going to miss that cash.

-----

The trip to Raven's was a pain in the arse, to put it mildly. Take a bus to a train station that's on the right line, a train halfway across the city, another bus down into the depths of the fault and a ten minute walk through the junk-ridden decrepit backstreets of Timex city.

It's not somewhere I'd've walked through at night, anyway.

The fault was more like a forge, even in mid-morning. I didn't know if it was because the fault was closer to hell, or because the sun glared straight down the length of the canyon, but the heat seemed to flow down into the trench and stay there. The air was stagnant and still, dust and smog pooling down from the city above and flooding the air. Not even the shadows gave relief from the blazing heat. It oozed from every building, from every rubblepile, from every passing car.

Hot, humid and hellish.

Even with my jacket tied around my waist and a light t-shirt, I was still drowning in sweat. I flapped my t-shirt against my stomach trying to generate some form of cooling draft. All I did was remind myself that thermodynamics couldn't be beaten.

My body temperature held still at 39.2 degrees... that was about normal for a 33-S... It made me feel warmer to the touch, and more comforting. It also meant I suffered in the heat a little more. At least I had a way of cooling off, in heat like this mannequins started to cook their biochips. Hot days were busy days for the ADP. To underline the point, sirens raced through the city, barely a mile away.

Maybe the garage itself will be airconditioned?

Fat chance...

The building I found, I nearly passed because it looked almost abandoned. The sign above said "Raven's", but it didn't look like anybody'd cleaned it in years. It might once have been a shining stainless steel, but was dirt streaked and rain stained by years of city pollution.

According to the graffiti on the yellowed walls, _Bango Skank_ was here, but then he was everywhere in this city, only Kilroy had been in more places. The shutters were up, but I couldn't see much inside, the view was blocked by some truck with a wrecked black sportscar on the back.

It might once have been an impressive looking thing, a little like what you'd imagine the demon lovechild of a Ferrari Enzo and a Lamborghini Murcielago would look like... with bigger wheels and six massive exhausts out the back... but the whole front end had been smashed flat, windows shattered, gouges torn into the roof and the doors ripped clean through by something that might've been the Jaws of life. It didn't look like the sort of smash you'd walk away from, it looked like something out one of those Australian ad's....

"Just let me know if it can be fixed, Doctor, that's all," said the truck's driver.

"Well, I don't know," another voice answered from the other side of the truck, older and more seasoned. "If it was anybody else I'd say part it out and sell the rest as scrap, but I know what that car means to you, Gibson... I'll take a look at it, but no promises."

Gibson? I looked up over the back of the truck, above the cars gaping exhausts.

_Griffon II – Super-GT_

Wow.

Somebody's on the road to revenge alright. I felt a giddy surge of adrenaline, finding the whole situation far funnier than it should've been. The truck's engine clagged to life, and I was engulfed by a sudden belch of black diesel soot. Coughing and blinded, I staggered to the footpath, bracing myself against the 'A' in Bango Skank for a moment. My blood contamination went up three points... thanks a lot for that.

I first saw the Nobel Prize winner's back, as he guided the truck around, helping the driver back it into his shop. His hair was thinning at the top, long, oil-matted like his overalls, and strangely reminiscent of Emmet Brown. I didn't say anything right away, just watched and waited at the far end of the building, admiring some of the cars up on the lifts.

One of them looked like a standard family minivan... but the entire back end had been ripped out, seats carpeting, and all, there was nothing left but the basic chassis with what looked like a turbo-compound V8 engine lined up and ready to go into the empty space. The blades of the secondary turbines were exposed and shining back at me.

That thing is going to be one hell of a Q-car.

A piston engine, with a turbine to recover power from the exhaust. Wow. Bleed air was taken from behind the turbine's compressor, so it also served as a turbocharger, with the driveshaft spun by the exhaust gases being coupled to to the main engine through some sort of gearbox.

"That's brilliant," I commented to myself.

"Thanks Miss....," A voice interrupted my mechanical reverie,

"Deckard, Meg Deckard," I finished for him.

"Ah, Sylia's new recruit," said the Doctor, "She told me you'd be here today,"

"I am only temp, not recruit," I corrected.

"That's what the last one said," he remarked, giving a wry smile through his grey moustache. "Doctor Elijah Raven, at your service ma'am," he took my hand, and gave it a surprisingly firm shake. "My friends call me Doctor, my customers call me Doctor Raven, and the bane of my existence calls me 'Pops'." he finished with a gruff huff.

I laughed. I liked him immediately.

"Now then," he paused for a second, "Would you care to indulge an old man's scientific curiosity?"

"Huh?" I blinked, sideswiped

"Just hold out your left arm... please,"

I wasn't sure what he wanted. What I got back from my senses was that it really just was a genuine curiosity, he didn't _seem_ to be hiding anything. Cautiously, I held out my arm, ready to snatch it back just in case.

"Thanks," I watched him delicately grip my wrist in one hand, rubbing his fingers across my skin. He pressed down right where my data port should've been, and smiled. "It's remarkable," he mumbled to himself "Totally lifelike,"

"I am not 'it'" I stated, offended.

"I meant your skin," he corrected, "I can feel a pulse and everything, muscle, bone and sinew, no sign of any mechanics. You're a fine piece of work, it's a shame GENOM don't build biomimetic types any more, they were always more pleasant to deal with."

He found out! A thrill of terror ran through my body, and I snatched my hand back as if from a boiling pot. Raven just chuckled dryly to himself.

"Don't worry," he assuaged with a wave of his hand, "Sylia told me what you are, the whole truth. She asked me to give you a full service over the weekend,"

If anybody walking past heard that, and didn't know what I was.... they'd get the wrong idea. I laughed again.

"Service service service!" I announced gleefully to the crows pecking at the bins.

"What?" blurted the doctor, wrongfooted by my sudden announcement "Not _that_ sort of service!"

I just answered with an impish giggle, hugging myself, before the wind dropped out of my sails.

"Sorry," I said, "I live alone... and it gets a little boring,"

"I'll bet," he snorted "Anyway, the bike's through in back. I was surprised to see something _that_ old show up, how the hell did you keep that running?"

I shrugged, "BMW reliable not need much fix,"

"Except for the electrics... I don't know what you did to it, but nothing matches the original diagrams anymore. I could spend weeks figuring it out, but we have until Monday morning to get it done and ready, so lets get started,"

Truth be told, I wasn't quite sure what I did to it either. I just sort of got it running, then wired more and more things back in until they worked and called it done. Then added a CD player, a 5v USB-ish power source and audio jack for my MP3, some extra gauges....something that might've once been an eePC...

I could see why a Nobel prize-winner couldn't figure it out... he was probably assuming there was some sort of logical scientific pattern behind it.

"Should be simple enough," I lied through my teeth.

He gave me the dirtiest look, as if he knew how big that lie was.

"Just follow me, and don't touch anything!" he warned.

I wouldn't dream of it. Definitely not touching the workstation computer that pre-dated the laptop in my bag. Not touching the face of Alfred Nobel himself, watching over the entire shop, framed by pictures of people I'd never seen.... except for one young girl, another scientist, and a silver haired woman who looked a lot like Sylia, but not quite.

The Garage was a grotto of bikeparts, carparts, boomer parts, assorted gubbins, smelling of grease, steel, sweat, and gasohol. It was truly a man's paradise. There was a car parked in the corner, wedge shaped with a glint of silver off of its body panels.

"Is that..." I swallowed. "Is that really a DeLorean?"

"Yes," answered the Doctor...

"Gre.."

"And Don't say Great Scott! Or I'll transplant your AI into a coffee maker!" he headed that one off.

Great Scott,, my mind whispered. Great Scott...my throat tightened. Great Scott... my face turned cherry read. Great Scott... my lips pursed. I whimpered and whined like a strangled puppy. I just couldn't kill the process.....

"_The most excellent leader of the British attempt on the South Pole who was beaten to the Pole by __Amundsen and died on the way back_" I whispered

"What?"

"Never mind," I waved it off.

"That's probably the best response I've heard so far to that," he commented calmly. "I'm surprised a 3 year old Boomer would even know such an obscure cultural reference,"

"Back to the Future is not obscure," I replied... it was as popular in 2010 as it had ever been.

"It is, if you're under 40," said Raven, "Perhaps..." he thought, rubbing at his chin "It might be the brain-image AI"

"A what?"

I paused for a moment, suddenly hit by an extremely unpleasant thought, depending on just what this brain-image meant. The doctor stopped in his tracks, a solemn expression on his face as he turned towards me. Gibson was unloading his Griffon at the far end of the garage, servomotors whining with the strain.

"I've said too much, Miss... I'm sorry." he bowed ever so slightly, "I have the bike out back waiting and we need to get started,"

A few moments of silence.

"Please tell me more," I requested, my voice almost a monotone.

He sighed, "GENOM developed a way to copy the contents of a human brain onto an artificial one some time ago, as their competitor to cyberbrain technology. They called it Ghost-dubbing. It's a banned process now, for the simple reason that it killed the original human. It's how they made the 33-S AI, using terminal-patient volunteers. Normally, they erased any original sense of identity the AI retained, but it seems you might've kept some of yours,"

I nearly collapsed to the floor beneath the weight of it, before my auto-balancers kicked in.

"I'm not that person anymore," I stated, my voice like jelly, "What does it matter if I never was?"

He gave me the strangest look, as if wondering what I meant by that exactly. I felt tears well up, but I held them back. My mind started spinning through the possibilities a lot of them centring on Tet's explanation of how I got here.

"Self identity can be a difficult subject in a world where even the human mind can be treated as nothing more than data," Raven said, drawing a deep, solemn breath,

"What did Sylia tell you about me?" I asked, swallowing another lump. My stomach must've been full of nothing but lumps at this stage.

"Quite a bit," he admitted "Quite a bit of which she asked me not to discuss with you, for the sake of your own stability"

I gave a dubious groan

"Well..." I started, "_My name is Meg Deckard, whatever else I may be, that's the person I am. And if I die today, that's the man I'll be_"

I don't think I quite matched the delivery, but it was enough to distract me away from a very dark place.

"What does dying have to do with anything?" the good doctor betrayed a lack of research in relevant TV sources.

"Never mind," I waved it off again.

"Anyway, there's the bike," he pointed to some amorphous tarpaulined shape, "Structurally it's fine, the crash bars did their job. The forks and handlebars are bent, the silencer is gone, and one of the mirrors got ripped off." What could be expected really, "Fitting a new front end would normally be pretty uncomplicated, but that's a bird's nest of wires to work through."

"Sorry about that," I blushed slightly,

"Tell that to yourself, you're working through it all while I rebuild and reprogram the fuel injection system,"

It suddenly seemed like I'd gotten the easier of the two jobs. I took a deep, calming breath, "Well, how do start?"

"With little steps. First, we take the tarpaulin off,"

-----

6 hours later, and Raven had not only removed the injection controller, but also the ignition controller from under the fuel tank, all sensors from the engine and the original fuel pump and rail along with the injectors. He was a flurry of wrinkled hands, and anecdotes about decade old motorcycles and petrol.

In the same amount of time, I managed to drain the front brakes, and figure out that I really should've labelled everything when I built it. I sat there muttering as I worked through the lot of it with a multimeter. I didn't remember doing any of it.

And because a bunch of it had to go under the fuel injection modules, Raven couldn't finish his parts until after I did. And then it would take God-knows how long to program it. These things were supposed to take weeks to do, and we had to do it in two days.

"This is never going to get done," I told myself, despondently.

16:12:54

Separate out a cable, check for resistances between two points. Open circuit, so that doesn't connect to that. So what does? Sit there wondering about it, wiping a greasy hand across my brow to clear the sweat. Try again with a different cable of the same colour. Ask myself why I was too cheap to buy the right colour cables. Open circuit, wrong cable again. Give it a frustrated thump. Repeat a few more times for good measure.

"This is never going to get done," I told myself, despondently.... again

16:17:12

I hated myself for dropping this on myself. What was I always told about software coding? What was I always told about design in university? Document….document…. document…. And then document your documentation just to be sure.

I sighed and sat back down on the concrete floor.

I needed coffee. Lots of coffee. Regular Boomers may be built for mindless repetitive tasks, but I sure wasn't. I didn't mind being dirty and greasy too much… it'd wash off. I didn't mind the smell of WD-40, real petrol, and brake fluid either…. It was a good _mechanical_ smell, a strangely satisfying and functional smell

But I hate _this_.

Picking through fiddly little cables.

I really hate this.

Alone and without help, without mental diversion

I could hear the comings and goings in the shop out front, the whine of an airgun, a clatter of steel, and the roar of what sounded like a really interesting engine. I heard a bike arrive, baffle-less exhaust rattling the concrete and buzzing in my belly. The engine died with a rattle, a draft of distinctive, acrid gasohol exhaust washing through the building.

"Yo! Pops, that oil leak's back around the compressor shaft for the front wheel drive,"

Bane of existence… hah!

"That's _Doctor_ to you, Priss_!_" came the irate reply from out front, "And Sylia's been waiting for you downstairs for the last hour,"

Sylia… here…downstairs? I didn't see any stairways. Of course, the secret base had to be _somewhere_. In a dark dark fault, along a dark dark street, inside a dark dark garage, down some dark dark stairs there was a dark dark closet, inside of which was…a hardsuit. Where had I heard that before?

I heard booted footsteps approaching from behind, mixed with the distinctive creak of leathers. I stared at a point just above the original VIN stamping, looking into my own shadow. I could see another formless one approaching from behind riding on a wave of irritation.

She stopped, and I sensed her curiosity as she watched me work.

"I don't understand why anybody would keep an old dinosaur burner like that around," she commented, "Not for day to day use or anything,"

She wasn't being in anyway nasty about it, she really was just curious. I could read as much just by looking at her eyes, which were scanning over the stripped down motorcycle, engine, gearbox, driveshaft, the tail section with one undamaged pannier still attached.

"Sentimental value," I deflected with a simple generic answer.

It wasn't a question I hadn't been asked before, but that was a previous life, and the answer just wouldn't have been appropriate.

"It must have a lot of sentimental value to pay for real gasoline, and the spare parts for something like this." Priss said, inspecting the cracked taillight, "I've never seen anything this old on the road, just in a museum,"

She ran her fingers gently along the exposed backbone of the frame. I think she was impressed… slightly. If not by the rider then by her bike. I sat there, casting my gaze down onto the grey cylinder head for a moment, and the 4 hungry mouths of the inlet trumpets. I remembered clearing years' worth of dust and cobwebs out there, I remembered how the butterflies needed to be balanced and how much of a pain in the arse that was to do with a kit designed for carburettors. I remembered what Doctor Raven had told me earlier that day,

"I think it prove I am original, not copy," I said, feeling a strange relief wash over me.

That caught the singer on her back foot alright.

"Damn cyborgs," growled Priss, the air filling with restrained hostility "They throw their humanity away until they're left with nothing more than the barest sliver of what they once where, and then they cling to it as if it's the most precious thing in the world when they finally realise what they've done. If it was so important to them, why did they throw it away in the first place?"

She asked me, directly.

"I had no choice," I followed Sylia's story, feeling oddly ashamed for lying, "Boomeroid better than death,"

"Hmmph, maybe. I just know I don't want to be buried in that Pet Sematary.," she shrugged uncomfortably.

"Heh," I smirked lightly, getting the reference. "Ramones?"

She nodded, placing her hand against the bike's frame where the backbone, gearbox supports and tail met in an obtuse Y.

"Shit I hate this," the singer snarled, straining against some imaginary leash. "I don't know what Sylia is thinking of with this," she stopped dead for a moments thought, "Good luck fixing the bike, later Deckard," she finished simply, flatly.

"Thanks, I guess," I stuttered, having expected more of a rant about humanity, or boomeroids, or _something. _I watched her back as she walked away, that gently but still confident sway to her hips as she strode across the concrete floor.

She was almost as hard to figure out as Sylia. I'd've killed to be able to read her mind, just to know what exactly she thought of me. I don't think she hated me, she probably hated what I was…or what she thought I was…but there was more to it than that; she was desperately uncomfortable around me, like she was standing barefoot on a bed of nails, and for a few moments, I wanted nothing more than to know why.

It didn't seem to be as simple as just mistrust, or suspicion. Whatever it was, it ran a lot deeper than what a person's pheromones could tell me.

Priss stopped at a door marked private, punching a code into a keypad beside the door. I heard the brass ticks as the locks cam undone, and she pulled it silently open, revealing a…. Closet? With cleaning supplies, mops, a rake and something that looked like a hoover? She stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind her with a heavy, hollow clack. The locks reclosed, the numbers on the pad rescrambled, and she disappeared.

There was no sound at all from inside.

At least she didn't punch me. Isn't that how Priss normally said hello to boomers?

An hour later, she came out looking as miffed about something as ever. She didn't even look at me as she breezed past. I heard her argue with Raven about something else, before her bike fired up and wailed away into the deepening night. It really got dark early in the fault.

Was Sylia really here though?

That door was probably a secret access to the base underneath the floor. An intrepid self-confident adventurer would probably have knocked on the door to find out for sure. Maybe that's what she expected me to do even. I found a jar of coffee instead, and ordered in a decent dinner out of my own account.

If Sylia was here, what was she doing?

I suddenly felt horrendously paranoid, like a hundred eyeballs were crawling up my back.

-----

Grey and dull, like a summer's day at home. The last delivery of the day was a Merc' SLK with a blown engine.

20:20:20

"Are you done yet?" enquired Raven, impatiently…

"Nope," I growled.

Though I'd finally gotten the last of it separated out. Now I just had to get rid of it.

-----

Dimmer than a Texan governor outside, and the last customers were picking up their cars.

21:25:15

"Are you done yet?" enquired Raven, impatiently… for the seventh time in the last hour.

"Nope," I growled growled again

I'd gotten the last of it out, thank God.

"Sylia want you to find a place for this," He placed a box on the workbench beside me. "A 2-way scrambled radio so you can communicate with the rest of the team,"

"No problem," I lied tiredly.

-----

22:19:08

Dark as a black hole outside and the shutters were down. It was still hotter than hell and humid enough to near drown.

"Are you done yet?" enquired Raven, impatiently… for the tenth time in the last hour.

"Almost," I growled once more.

My hands ached, and my joint and muscle monitors were complaining about having been locked on the same positions for most of the day. I was built for short periods of active exertion, not a long time kneeling down spannering things up.

"Remember, you still have to put the new front end on and replace all of this lot," he reminded cruelly, poking at the medusa's head of cables, "It'll take most of tomorrow to get the fuel injection working."

"You know sexaroids aren't built for this," I whined.

"And old Scientists aren't built for all-nighters!" he shouted, "But it has to be done,"

"No problem," I lied again, cowed by pessimism.

"I'm going for a snooze, later,"

Hey!

-----

23:30:32

"Heavy! Heavy! Heavy! Heavy!" I squealed, having realised the problems that came with taking the front end of a motorcycle, and leaving it supported by only the centrestand, right before I undid the last bolt.

270 kilograms or so was a bloody heavy thing to lift by yourself, even with a decent set of straps thrown over a girder and a good ratchet.

"There's a hydraulic bike lift out front, I can bring it in if you'd like," a male voice said.

"No! No!" I pleaded, "Take too long now, just get other end, I not do both."

I had one strap through the frame, just in front of the headstock, and another between both luggage racks, since it was strong enough. Keeping both evened up so it didn't tip over, or pull loose somehow, or just do anything weird because I wanted to be careful, was a fine art…

"Right," Mackie answered, "I'll get the back, and we'll do it together,"

I took one glance at the teenager, who was taking more than a glance at me.

"Keep an eye on it in case it slips, not me,"

"Right,"

No change…. His eyes never moved. How could anybody be so shameless? I certainly wasn't when I was his age… which according to one interpretation I never was… and I changed course rapidly before my thoughts got sucked into _that_ black hole again.

It was too late to worry about things like that. Not with muscles straining, and little alarms warning me about the stress on my back and ankles anyway. Power and energy flared through my body, my bloody burning hot as it tried to keep up with demands. My reserves were already low, and I was redlining them.

This thing was so heavy I could pull with both hands on it and barely be able to move the thing. I hadn't got the bodyweight to pull it up, unlike the last time I'd done this, I couldn't just lean into it.

"Heavy!" I announced,

"There's a hydraulic lift…." Mackie reminded.

"Just do it!" I screeched. "_And watch the bloody bike not me!"_

The straps were groaning beneath the strain, girders creaking, and I still hadn't gotten the thing halfway off the ground…

"Count of three…."

-----

23:45:19

The lift did the job, but not before I bent some of the bracing in my elbows, and cracked a support somewhere in my back. I slumped exhausted against the workbench, chest heaving, body drenched in sweat as it tried to bleed off excess heat.

"I told you so," Mackie remarked smugly, a satisfied grin plastered across his face.

And no wonder…. He could see right down my top.

I felt utterly defeated.

And desperately hungry.

-----

00:34:05

The bent front suspension was lying on the concrete floor beside me, a wagonwheel pizzabox on top of it. Chang's Tiger Pizza, the only place that still delivered after midnight. Hot food normally raised my spirits, but not tonight.

12 hours just to take the front forks off of a motorbike.

At least as long to get them back on again… then according to Raven, another solid day to get the fuel injection working. A quick estimate put the job being finished at midday on Monday… barring no more delays.

But, I had to spend Sunday night under the Doctor's care, and was supposed to spend a good chunk of Monday morning getting a basic course on how not to blow my own foot off.

"This will never get done," I told myself.

It was a mountain of work now, getting larger and larger with each passing minute….with each bite of pepperoni pizza, with each despairing breath I took. I was exhausted physically, and starting to feel the lingering effects of nearly 2 days without sleep.

There was no way to get it done now…. None....

I wanted nothing more than to leave the garage and go home, to my apartment, and rest. With a fresh mind and body, maybe that'd make a difference. A few hours rest, and a quick, clear sprint, versus hours of draining slog…

And then I remembered the 2 hour journey home, the 2 hour journey back, and how 2 hours would make a really shite snooze after all that bother.

I hated Sylia for not giving me enough time to do this. I hated Raven for disappearing to his office. I hated Mackie for being a smug, leering pervert. I hated myself for not bothering to label everything up when I had the chance thus making this necessary. I hated myself even more for making the same mistake again…..but it was too late to change that. It was too late to back out. It was too late to finish the job. It was too late to do anything but sit there munching on pizza, stewing in my own bitterness.

I wanted to punch something… anything…. Time marched on but still nothing was getting done. Tick-Tock, the clock mocked, and I wanted nothing more than to throw a spanner at it. But then I'd have to fix the bloody clock too. If I got pissed off and indulged in some percussive relief on the fucking bike… that'd just be a little icing on a very fat cake of work.

A million yen for a weekends work… Hah!...How ridiculous.

I was an expensive, high-grade Bu-33-S… manual labour was beneath a type like me. It was like using a Lamborghini to pull a trailer full of cattle, or a combat boomer in the bedroom. I was dirty, sweaty, wearing oilstained clothes. I'd managed to damage myself….like the idiot I was….

Why couldn't Sylia have just asked me to be her personal concubine, or something?

A life in a silken cage, or this 'freedom'…

The luxury of Sylia's penthouse seemed a great deal more preferable than a rundown 6-mat apartment, and an hour's commute for 12 hour days of underpaid work.

And none of this brought me any closer to actually getting the job done. Suck it up, get a spanner out, and just keep going. Better to try and fail, than to give up and fail.

-----

02:34:56

Sleep deprivation makes sexaroids emotionally unstable.

So when I finally managed to attach the new front forks, and was amazed at how easily and perfectly they slotted home… despite being of the 'Earles' type and stolen from a Honda VFR1400…. I took my t-shirt off and danced around the garage in jubilation for ten minutes, before a sense of shame and embarrassment finally caught up with me.

My second Eureka moment came a few moments later, when I realised that 90% of the wires and stuff I'd ripped out… could stay out. Power regulators for USB, speakers, CD-player, cross-cables, audio cables, digital control logic, switchgear… I didn't really _need_ any of it… I just sort of added it at the time because I thought it would be cool to have.

And it'd make fitting that new scrambled radio so much easier.

Why didn't I think of it before? It seemed the obvious thing to do.

Because I was being stupid, that's why.

-----

05:43:21

The sun was starting to come up, a dull grey light filtering through the garage windows. It'd be a while before it entered the canyon proper, but there was something so welcoming about it being there.

It was about that time that I began to think I might just be able to get it done. I had the front brake and clutch hooked up, and the instrument binnacle half done. Lights, horn and indicators seemed doable, and Sylia's radio could take the place of the CD player.

I was alone, still with my t-shirt off… but with the windows open, the morning air felt so good on my bare skin, I didn't mind. There was no-one around to see me anyway. I could strip naked as the factory made me and nobody would know.

No… I won't… My common sense clamped down.

Alright, I needed to clear my head. The petrol fumes really were getting to me. I reluctantly slipped my t-shirt back on, and stepped out into the still-dark alleyway out back.

The air and cooled somewhat overnight, but it was dead still, tendrils (of) steam rising straight up from the exhaust vents of some grey building across the alleyway.

The lights of the city obscured the stars… except for one, hanging lazily in the sky between DAB corporation tower and Green Food distribution.

I watched it for a minute, flickering in the morning sunlight. It was the SDPC's Genaros Station.

Immediately, I felt oddly guilty, and hurried back to work.

-----

07:20:34

Raven delivered breakfast....the same or similar mixture of porridge and metal Sylia had given me on my first day. He didn't look tired himself, he just looked old.

"I spent most of the night developing the base program for the EFI controller," he boasted,

"I spent it going tired and buggo," I told him.

"You did label all the wires up, didn't you?" he asked...

"No," I admitted, "I just removed all not needed, easier to finish,"

"Makes sense," the doctor-mechanic conceded, stroking his chin thoughtfully, "And the new radio,"

"Still not sure..."

"Try get it in by nine," the scientist suggested... his tone very careful not to come across as an order, "If the Fuel Injection gets in by midday, we can get all the fairing, fuel tank and lights back on, and set it up on the dynamometer for the injection to program itself overnight,"

"Can we get done on time?" I asked.

"If we get lucky, yes _you_ can." he answered with an almost evil smirk.

"Me?" I blurted, "I thought you fit EFI?"

"Yes," he answered, "But a job came up. Consider it a challenge." he goaded.

"Fine," I sighed, relenting to more technical torture, "Do I get a manual?"

"In the box," he assured me, "Just follow it, and everything will be fine,"

"Fine," I sighed once more....

Long day.... another long day. I needed a rest, badly. Repair time for my elbow was given as 'infinite', the same for my back. The joints needed to be immobilised in the 'Zero' position for my systems to deal with it... and that wasn't likely any time soon.

I was recharging myself with food, as fast as I was burning the energy. Fuel and oil fumes were contaminating my bloodstream, tetra-ethyl lead making itself known.

Somebody shoot me.

No, they'd do that tomorrow, after I finished this. Put me out of my misery, after the misery had stopped. That'd just be perfect.

-----

09:36:33

I missed the deadline by about 20 minutes, but Raven wasn't bothered. He just placed the box with the new injection controller, fuel pump injectors and oxygen sensors, on the table beside me, along with instructions.

Midday? Good bloody luck.

Suddenly, I realised that if Sylia had been downstairs when Priss arrived... she hadn't left all night, unless there was another back entrance somewhere. Yeah, there probably was somewhere... she wouldn't stay awake all night just to watch me.

Would she?

Why would Sylia be watching me?

-----

10:47:41

A motorscooter buzzed up outside, engine popping and ringing off the alleyways outside as the owner searched for somewhere to park. I could hear them shuffling around outside, whispering and cursing, looking for their keys, their chain lock, their keys again, then somewhere to stash their helmet.

I recognised the voice immediately. Somebody I _wanted_ to talk to. Somebody I could whine to and who might actually listen.

"Good Morning Doctor!" I heard her great with a refreshing cheerfulness.

Already, she was dragging me up out of the morose depths of my sleepless depression.

"Sylia's downstairs," the Doctor answered, his voice cracking with fatigue.

I was brimming with a strange, deluded excitement, as if rescue was about to come bubbling cheerfully through the door. I could hear her walking, a distinctive sound made by her favourite heels.

She rustled through the door, that candyfloss hair of hers radiating happiness and salvation from labour. Resplendent in her AD Police uniform, Nené Romanova smiled when she saw me sitting on concrete, coated in dark streaks of grease and grime.

Then she giggled maniacally,

"You look like you've been dragged through a sewer, Meg," she forced herself to say.

"Thanks," I groaned, deflated

"Yet you still manage to look so sexy, even when you're so dirty," she said, her voice suddenly becoming very small, and a little jealous.

"I guess that my talent," I answered, shrugging. "Beside, ADP uniform suit you well," I returned, hoping the old trick when dealing with women still worked.

"I really like the skirt, it shows off my legs without making it seem like it's too..." she placed a finger on her lips, hunting for the right word "... desperate,"

I giggled.

"How's Sylia's test going anyway?" she asked standing over my shoulder as she cast a critical eye over my work.

"Test?" I questioned.

"Yeah, sure, Sylia tests each new member before they join." she told me, "Mine was to crack an online code, I was the only person in the world to solve the problem."

Her chest swelled with pride, her green eyes gleaming.

"Join?" I blurted out.... "I'm only here for the one mission,"

Nené's bubble burst, her pride deflating.

"Sorry, I wasn't supposed to say that," she said morosely, propping herself up against the bike, "Sylia's going to _kill_ me now,"

Actually join the Knight Sabers?

"It's okay," I reassured her, holding my hands up to stop some imaginary attack "I'm not really want to join either. And Priss not like me, uh... so probably never anyway"

The hacker relaxed a little, understanding what I was trying to say.

"Priss didn't like me either when I joined," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Linna neither, it's just the way she is with new people. Once she gets to know you, she's really quite sweet,"

Priss and sweet seemed to go together like GENOM and corporate responsibility, at least in my own limited personal experience.

"Maybe," I dodged, "Nice to talk to human though... I go insane all night alone,"

Nené smiled again,

"I thought you lived alone, Meg,"

"Yeah, but..." I paused,

"I _know.._" she cut in, "I need a boyfriend too, but I just don't have the time for a true romance." a beat as her expression darkened, "And no Romeos seem to have time for me either," she sighed tiredly. "At least none that don't need batteries," she added quietly, her voice almost mouselike.

The pair of us shared a perverted giggle, knowing just what she meant.

"I don't really need that," I shot straight, "Not really interested in sex,"

None at all, genuinely. I was the coldest of cold fish in bed.

"Want to trade bodies then?" Nené enquired, her eyes sparking again, "It seems such a shame to waste such a sexy body on a woman who doesn't event want sex. With my body, you could enjoy beer again, and I could enjoy the deep passionate love a woman like me desires,"

Nené drifted off into dreamland, hugging herself across the chest. I placed my hands on my own boobs for a moment, confirming that I was just as much a woman as Nené, only without any form of womanly drives.

"They want spend time with my body, " I said flatly, with strange bitterness, "not with me. Anybody who like Nené, they like who you are,"

It wasn't just men either. I kept those drives disabled for a reason. Funny, the first thing most men would say they'd do if they woke up one morning in a body like this, was that they would find another willing companion, usually their favourite animé gal and get 'exploring' together. Well, I wasn't a _human_ woman, was I? And there was no need to explore when I knew exactly what I could do, and what it would feel like. I'd even tested it to be sure... out of boredom.

I smirked briefly at that thought.

"I don't know," shrugged the pink-haired woman, "It's nice to be needed, even if it is just physically,"

"_Neon Genesis Evangelion?"_ I wondered,

"What's that?" Nené asked, the conversation suddenly derailed.

"Old animé," I waved it off, "Nothing important,"

"Ah,"

An oddly awkward silence for a few seconds, then Nené starting tittering gently, holding her pink nails against her lips. Then Nené started giggling softly, slowly building an inexorable momentum, like an accelerating locomotive as she struggled to hold it in... pressing her hand hard against her mouth, her face matching the colour of her hair. The dam broke, the full torrent of laughter flooding the garage.

"What?"

My voice was small and shamed

"Your hands were greasy," she point to my chest.

Two mucky handprints covered my chest, one on each side.

"Thanks for telling me," I said, in a bitter, embarrassed deadpan.

"No problem," she gave a teasing grin. "Now I really got to go. Do your best, Deckard,"

"_See ya later, Alligator," _I waved her off.

"One more thing!" she stopped dead, "It's a little something Sylia had us do as a team building exercise after Linna joined," The pride had returned behind her eyes, as she handed me micro-holographic disk labelled '_Asu e Touchdown'_ "It turned out pretty awesome, even if I only did the backing vocals,"

"Awesome, thanks," I beamed back, holding the multi-hued reflective disk.

"It's encoded at nearly 2 megabits a second, so it's practically an analogue signal, "

She quickly disappeared into the same closet Priss had hidden in yesterday. It was nice to be able to talk to someone.... it made a break from the monotony of a chirpy multimeter that had an irritating Eliza-based personality.

I had the disk, but realised I had nothing to play it in. That was a bit of a downer.

There was still the matter of the mucky handprints on my top. Simple solution; I took it off, pulled it inside out, then put it back on. It worked, even if the label was on the outside, along with the obviously cheap stitching.

"Uh..." a voice interrupted, "The Doctor finished the controller module," it said, swallowing something.

Mackie was standing there, a grey box with a jumble of cables running out of it in his hands, pressed against his striped shirt, his face an almost dreamlike chance.

I wanted nothing more, than to be able to bloodily rip out of this attractive disguise, and reveal the heavily armed and now very pissed off steel monster within. The lecherous boy-genius must've figured as much... he calmly placed the box on the floor, and slipped quietly out of the room, back to work with Raven.

Nice... he's learning his lesson.

Even if the only remotely dangerous thing I could _actually _do was grow my fingernails out by about 10 millimetres, if I broke one off. That might just be enough to leave a really nasty scratch, maybe even break the skin. The very same mechanisms that allowed some boomers to fuse with battletanks allowed me to regrow a broken nail.

That bent brace in my arm finally jammed, and freeing it broke the thing clean off the bone. It didn't hurt, metal held no nerves, but it triggered red-alerts in my AI. There was only a slight numbness, and the disturbing sensation of something crawling around inside under the skin. It meant I couldn't do any more heavy lifting.

Repair time: 14 hours with joint immobilised.

And still I had work to do. Lot's of it.

Hopefully my arm wouldn't drop off before I got this done.

I felt like crying out in despair, the fleeting ray of Nené's sunshine having long left this place for the world beneath. Instead, I grimly forged on, fitting the fuel system.

O-ring on the injector, injector snaps into fuel rail. Repeat three more times. Fit new pressure sensor to the end of the rail, replacing return feed. Mount the whole lot back onto the inlet and admire.

I don't want to join the Knight Sabers.

The more I said it, the more it was beginning to sound like I was lying to myself. This was tough, but strangely enjoyable, once I began to make progress.

-----

12:34:56

"Why is your arm duct-taped?" Nené enquired as she left.

"Duct-tape fix everything," I explained.

And it helped stop the broken brace from moving around too much inside... even if the glue did itch like a hundred scratching ants.

I found an MHGD player buried under some tools…. And with a spanner as a microphone, sang along. If Sylia was watching me, she was probably rolling on the floor laughing. The thought of that nearly had me doing the same.

-----

15:10:11

Linna came and went in a whirlwind, dropping _something_ off downstairs, before running back out… something about a starter motor for her Renault Scenic.

The fuel tank was back on the bike, everything was hooked up and seemed fine. There was nothing but the fairing, Sylia's radio and the crash-bars to go. Some might've suggested that the bike actually be started before fitting all the cosmetic stuff, but there was a very important reason for waiting until the whole lot was done...

I just didn't think about doing it any other way.

A sudden surge of elation picked me up and carried me forward as I realised that I might just be nearing the end of my torture. In the distance was the top of the mountain, framed with sunshine and cherubs, and a sparkling glass of the best German lager waiting just for me and me alone.

Just because I couldn't enjoy the deleterious effects of alcohol consumption, didn't mean I couldn't enjoy the cool, crisp, refreshing flavour.

Dinner came and went, the power surge driving me forward with even greater enthusiasm. I was giggling madly as I fiddled with a blue fibreglass panel, scratched and damaged by the crash, and warped just enough out of true to be an absolute bollox to refit. It should've been frustrating, but I was beyond that... I was finally going mad... I was finally going to finish this thing...

I wasn't going to dance around butt-naked in celebration.

Not when there were people known to record such things with hidden cameras.

I was going to drop to the floor, resting back against the workbench, and laugh maniacally for about 5 minutes at it all. I didn't get tired in the human way, I just got a bit nutty…. like Windows 98 left running for a few days, it got less and less stable, until eventually it went completely insane and slaughtered your data.

I really needed to sleep.

My memory was fragmented, my thoughts starting to fray at the edges. I didn't know why I stayed awake the night before… well, the Friday night anyway… but I regretted it.

Oh right, nightmares.

Shit… I should've been off work today…

-----

18:01:10

Only about 2 hours later than billed , the rebuilt BMW was up on the dyno, tank full of about 10k yen's worth of Exxon's finest petroleum spirit, and a capful of lead additive I added to save the valve seats.

It had taken three of us pushing, Raven, Mackie and myself, to get it up there, and to connect all the monitoring and control circuitry up to the self programming ECU. I was surprised actually how well I understood how it worked. Raven had spent most of last night programming the ideal power and emissions settings and vehicle environment settings, among other things. Then using a combination of fuzzy logic controller and basic perceptron artificial neural networks to program the FLC, the bike would tune its own ignition and injector timing for peak fuel-efficiency, throttle-response and power overnight.

It was a similar principle to what my own AI operated on, but a lot less complicated. If I was human level say, this thing wouldn't even be an ant. It was still pretty cool though, it learned how best to deliver the performance the rider wanted by comparing its response and result in one instance with the ideal response and result, then updating its control systems and triggering functions accordingly so that they match better. Then lather, rinse, repeat.

And so basically, the more the bike was ridden, the better it got.

The downside with using ANN's was that there was no guarantee it would ever arrive at an ideal solution, or no way of knowing how long it would take to do it. Each attempt at training the ANN would result in slightly different results. There was also the possibility that it would get a little…weird…in the solution it found.

But none of that interesting technobabble actually mattered if it didn't fire up. An expectant hush fell upon those assembled as I stepped up, and placed the key in the ignition. Outside, I heard the buzz of another engine approaching

"Wait, wait," Mackie pleaded, "Priss will want to see this,"

Great, just great. Casting her grey clouds of mistrust over everything. I was already nervous enough as it was. If this thing didn't fire up, it'd be hell getting it fixed on time, and there's no way in hell I'd get enough rest before the mission and I might just fall to pieces crying on the dyno at the futility of it all.

Just the thoughts of it brought tears to my eyes.

"Hey, Pops… where is everyone?" I heard the singer's voice outside, "Is Sylia still here?"

"In here!" shouted the doctor, his voice painfully loud in such a small room, "And that's _Doctor _to you, Priss,"

Mackie chuckled. I cursed my luck, and prayed that when I fired it up, nothing exploded. That'd be so embarrassing. The room was barely big enough for three people, let alone four, what with the dynamometer equipment itself, air blowers for the radiator, ventilation for the exhaust, the two handcarts containing tools, a workstation computer, and a 200 litre tank of petrol overhead, feeding the bike's own fuel tank.

Priss pushed through the door, muscling her way into an already cramped and petrol-fume filled room, before closing it behind her.

"Is Sylia here or not?" she demanded… not angrily.

"She hasn't left," Mackie assured her, enjoying the sight of the woman in figure-hugging red leathers.

Priss never even looked at him, she just didn't care anymore. She ran her eyes across the bike, and I felt her mood suddenly perk up.

"Has it been started?" she asked,

"No," said Raven, irritation flaring

"We were waiting for you," Mackie assured her smoothly.

Priss just nodded dismissively, completely ignoring the attempt.

"It really looks well," she placed a hand up against the cylinder head, "What sort of power does it make?" she asked me.

I suddenly felt horrendously uneasy. She was only curious, I tried to tell myself. More than curious, Priss was fascinated by it, so much that she barely even acknowledged me.

"We haven't started it," Raven reminded.

"Manufacturers specification then,"

"90 brake horsepower," I said, before remembering the world had gone metric, "About 70 kilowatts I guess,"

I couldn't remember the _exact_ conversion off the top of my head, but that'd be close enough to it.

"That must've been something special 50 years ago," she said, peering at the new injection system through a radiator vent.

"Not really," I shrugged, "It is touring bike. Two people in comfort,"

"Ah, I see," Priss smiled at me… slightly, almost imperceptibly, but she smiled at me.

She ran her fingers across the crash damage, frowning a little, before placing her hand on top of the new mudguard and tyre. "Too bad about the damage,"

"That'd take too long to fix," Raven barked, "But we need to get this running, now, unless you'd like to walk tomorrow,"

That snapped her back to the real world, her mood hardening once more, "Well, fire it up," she ordered.

"Here goes," I took a deep breath, and turned the key.

Ignition on. No smoke billowing from anywhere, no blown fuses. The new radio came to life, displaying 888:88 MHz CODE 88 on it's green LED display. Another deep breath, switch the killswitch to 'run'.

The fuel pump buzzed to life, building pressure in the injectors, the instruments flickering and checking, red oil-light winking back at me. No smoke, no fire… time for the acid test. Push the little green button…

Click went a relay under the fuel tank. My heart arrested for an instant, before the starter laboured to life, cranking over three times. The tachometer needle flickered, the injectors fired, and…

Nothing.

Click, and it stopped dead. Four people exhaled, disappointment flooding the room. Killswitch and ignition off… And I suddenly wanted to cry.

"Try again," suggested Raven.

I nodded. Ignition, killswitch, starter and the engine cranked once, twice, then let rip with a sudden, heartstopping backfire that sounded for all the world as if the entire building had blown up. Instinctively, we ducked for cover, waiting for the smoke to clear.

"Warn me before it does that!" Priss shouted, livid. "I was right beside the exhaust and I have a concert tonight!"

"Use earplugs next time," suggested the doctor unhelpfully.

Mackie took his fingers out from his ears, and I crawled out from beside the crankcase with 'Sonic overstress' alarms announcing themselves inside my head,

"Sorry," I offered.

"Third time lucky, Deckard," Suggested the teenager leaning against the workstation.

I nodded. It felt like the last chance, and my hands were shaking. Ignition, Killswitch, starter… crank once, crank twice… and the engine finally caught with a burp, roaring to life with a belch of blue smoke and the sweet smell of raw petrol, Priss jumping back in fright in case it went off like a bomb.

"It's running!" I roared above the din, "It's actually running,"

I almost didn't believe it. A little rough, a bit smoky, and definitely very rich, but still… It revved, it responded; there was good oil pressure. Everything seemed alright. The ventilation was blasting air through, blowing it up out the chimney again, the engine clattering and roaring painfully in such a confined space. It fuelled the excitement deep inside… I did it… God damn it, I fucking did it…

"Burning oil!" Priss shouted, pointing at the back.

"Normal!" I answered, "Piston rings spin and line up," I made spinning gestures with my hand to explain, but Priss herself didn't seem to get it. It really was just a quirk of the bike's design… honestly.

Mackie said something to Raven that neither of us heard, and I gave the engine another prod with the throttle, making the little white needle do a little dance on the rev-counter. Priss jumped up, an excited gleam in her eyes… and I suddenly felt very nervous again.

"May I?" she requested, pointing to the saddle.

I nodded jumping down off the dyno as she threw her leg over the saddle. She kicked the bike into gear with a characteristic crunch and I smiled, ear to ear. Priss Asagiri was on _my_ bike…

Raven supervised as she built the revs, running the bike gently up through the gears. It pitched forward and back as she teased the throttle, the torque reaction from the driveshaft kicking the tail up and down.

Priss was alive, a blazing gleam in her eyes as she held the engine just above idle in top gear. She was revelling in it, the sounds, the smells, I could see it forged across her face, I could feel it flooding the room and it seemed to carry me with it.

Burning petrol, such a sweet smell, compared to the acrid, harsh gasohol.

"Give it a run!" Raven ordered, and Priss nodded.

She slammed the throttle hard open, the engine bellowing as it was asked to give all it could. Drifts of black smoke were ripped away up the chimney, engine coughing for a moment as it ran dangerously rich. The machine jumped back into its stride and Priss leaned forward, down towards the clocks as if in her own mind, she was charging towards some distant point on the horizon

I could feel the power buzzing through the room…

I made it do that….

The room was filled with a mechanical symphony of roaring engine, whining transmission, chattering tappets, chittering injectors, the deep hollow burr of tyre against roller and the turbine wail of the magnetic brakes deep inside the dynamometer.

The machine music built to a thundering climactic crescendo. Raven and Mackie had their hands over their ears, but I stood. The engine trilled against it's limiters, straining, coughing and backfiring as fuel and spark were cut and retriggered when the revs dropped.

Priss snapped the clutch in, letting the engine drop to a soothing idle and leaving the driveline to freewheel.

"What's the result?" she asked.

With the roar of the engine now dropped to a muted idle thrum, it seemed almost possible to hear her talk normally.

"59" shouted the doctor back,

Nice… especially with the engine still coughing from time to time as the mixture went funny. Priss was laughing, and maybe shivering. She placed both her hands on the fuel tank, and smiled, before giving me and Raven a thumbs up.

I nodded meekly…feeling strangely shy.

"Mackie," said Raven, "Set the perceptron training cycle running, and make sure Miss Mechanical Holocaust here doesn't break anything,"

"Hey!" barked Priss, "It's not _my_ fault that the engine _you_ built threw a con-rod and blew itself to pieces,"

"It's not my fault I didn't design it to do twenty-thousand RPM's. Most _sensible _people don't make engines do that…" countered the Doctor.

"I told you it jumped out of third when I was trying to pass that car…"

"It wouldn't have jumped out of gear if you bothered to use the clutch once in a while,"

"Tch," Priss rolled her eyes, revealing a new demonic gleam, "One more Pull!" she announced, snapping the throttle open once more.

I winced, a picture of my night's labours exploding in a shower of piston, crank and petrol filling my imagination.

"I don't want to see this," I mumbled to myself… sympathetic tears welling up.

Raven gestured for me to follow outside, and I gladly did. I didn't want to see my poor machine die.

I was amazed how still and quiet the garage seemed, after the cacophonic noise of the dyno-room. The engine's roaring was immediately muted by soundproofing as the door slammed shut behind the pair of us.

I was shivering. Excitement, terror and a hundred other random feelings were running through my body.

"She loves bikes," commented Raven, "She just gets a little too enthusiastic at times,"

I wondered why she'd get so enthusiastic with a 20-odd year old BMW with cracked fairing panels and chipped paint, before remembering that from Priss' perspective, that bike was probably older than her father.

"I hope it survives,"

"It will," he reassured. "And if it doesn't, well, there's a GPz1000R outside you can borrow tomorrow," he chuckled dryly.

"Huh?"

"Never mind," his shoulders dropped, "Anyway, these services normally take a few hours, and I'd like to get my beauty sleep tonight, so if you can get undressed, and get all that dirt washed off you, we can get started upstairs. I've prepared a room in my apartment for the job,"

I just nodded, running a tired hand through my hair, "I need sleep too,"

Long day tomorrow. Even if it still seemed almost dreamlike…or nightmarish. I was going to take part in a KS mission tomorrow. I was nervous… I was also looking forward to it for some crazy reason, I genuinely wasn't sure why.

The door opened behind, allowing the roar of the bike to flood the room once more. Booted footsteps behind, and the sense of thrilled excitement, and a strange confusion accompanied them.

"Thank you, that was fun," Priss said flatly, passing me by.

"No problem," I answered,

I watched Priss as she stepped into that same closet…

I still didn't understand her.

-----

The greatest pleasure in a sexaroid's life had nothing at all to do with sex. The greatest pleasure in a sexaroid's life was that wonderful post-service feeling, that clean mechanical high. My lungs were clear of dust, tar and pollution, my blood clear of all contamination. My arm was repaired, my joints checked and bracings adjusted. All my electronic controls and cybernetic regulations were in perfect tune, my whole body running at its peak efficiency.

I felt new, completely renewed.

I lay naked on a steel workbench, strapped down and connected to Raven's diagnostic gear by 108 nerve impulse needles, LAN and dataport. My shoulders were clamped at both 'vampire' transfer ports, either side of my neck. I could see myself through three different surveillance cameras at once, forming a 3-D image of the doctor working on my body in my mind.

I could watch an unmarked 8-wheel truck pull up outside, Mackie and Priss loading an unmarked crate, or my bike running through its training cycle unsupervised, if I wanted, but I was fascinated by myself, and what was happening to me.

The engineer still living within was curious to see what was under the skin. I _was_ cyberpunk.... I loved it.

The greatest feeling of all though… was of the dirty, contaminated blood being drained out of my shoulder, pumped through filters, cleaned, purified and heated, before being pumped back through my body. I could feel it heating my body from within, warmth and power, a renewed vigour flowing through my veins.

It was pure exhilaration without even moving. I never wanted to be anything else but a 33-S, ever again, because then I'd never be able to experience that sensation once more. All the little quirks and glitches, the minor irritations and niggling practicalities of being something other than human, in a world build for humans by humans, seemed totally worth it. I felt like a new person, mind, body and soul.

Being human may have been easier day to day, especially in this city, but being a cyberdroid was interesting. Like comparing a Honda FireBlade with a Ducati 916. One might perform better day to day, the other had its challenges, but I know which one I'd like to ride…

At least until the novelty wore off.

-----

I woke up on Monday morning, and it felt the same as any Monday I'd ever experienced. Weekend over, time for work. T.V. on the radio channel, cereal time, get ready for work and then…

Remember that I had a very different itinerary today.

At 08:29:19 in the morning, it seemed strangely surreal to think that, in just twelve hours time I might be dead in a hail of bullets. It seemed a distant possibility, on a morning that otherwise seemed so normal.

Talk radio was clamoured with callers complaining about TIEC, and GENOM's rumoured purchasing of government lands, along with news of a Bin strike. The shower was cold, the air-conditioner still broken. Outside, the sky was leaden with rain threatening. The city was hot and humid beneath its rolling grey blanket. Thunder seemed likely. Parts of the fault would probably flood as well, the roads would be jammed up with traffic, and trying to get anywhere worth a damn in the city would turn into a soaking wet nightmare.

How appropriate, considering the day that was in it. God was in his Heaven, and he loved that sort of cheesy stuff.

For some reason, I decided to spend more than a few minutes clearing up the mess my apartment had become over the last 4 weeks, a little like my old place actually, before I'd 'arrived' in town. Spare clothes I'd meant to wash on Sunday were gathered into a black bag, trash cleared up for recycling, and I emptied the dishes from the sink.

I felt like I should be going to work later today.

I thought about doing it anyway. I'd certainly be less likely to get killed.

I felt oddly ambivalent to that, though…. It seemed impossibly far away in the future, despite only being in a few hours' time. I was supposed to pick the bike up at around 11, get to Sylia's before 1, then get to the hospital where Priss would be waiting with a new hairstyle at 7pm on the dot.

Crunching away on Green Crisp cereal, like I did every Monday morning, it seemed genuinely impossible.

Of course at one stage, living in MegaTokyo with a boomer body, meeting the Knight Sabers and generally doing everything I'd done over the last 4 weeks had been 'impossible', too.

I got fed, dressed and washed, same as always. The same as half the city out there. Human or boomer, male or female, 90% of the necessities of life were the same either way, the other 10% were still novel enough to be entertaining.

I left the apartment with the first patterings of apprehension starting to flit across my gut, a few spots of rain carried down to the ground by a fiendishly cold breeze that chilled the bones.

I wondered if I shouldn't just ring Sylia and tell her I couldn't come out today, on account of the rain. I could enjoy my last day off work in comfort, rather than mortal peril.

Something told me that she'd drag me out, at this stage.

"Besides, you wanted to do this, remember?" I reminded myself out loud.

-----

It started bucketing rain the moment I reached Raven's. The bike was standing there waiting for me, cleaned as much as possible, with a new set of luggage stolen from the same Honda as the front suspension fitted to the back.

I borrowed a helmet, assured by Raven that the owner wouldn't mind, but couldn't find any waterproofs or proper safety gear. But needs must, and I had to get that bike to Lady633.

I found the delivery wrappings for an old mannequin. They were plastic, transparent and a little dirty, but with the proper application of inspiration and duct tape, would keep most my body nice and dry.

-----

The accident on my first night in MegaTokyo was never far from my mind as I rode to Lady633, especially each time I filtered forward through traffic. I winced each time something moved. Slowly, steadily, covering the brakes just in case somebody decided to bolt for an opening in the traffic.

I was half shivering, and not from the cold.

The heat from the engine was welling up, slow-cooking my legs. My plastic shield may have kept everything below the neck dry, but it also trapped body heat and moisture. I was sitting in my own personal sauna, and not really enjoying it at that. My skin would prune-up as easy as anyone's.

But it was better than being soaked to the bone.

When the traffic cleared along the main highways, and I was able to build up some momentum, I realised that, despite the modifications to the bike, or the fact that I was thousands of miles away from home, in a completely different universe… It still felt much the same as ever to ride. A little stiffer perhaps, and more eager to rev, but essentially the same.

I was back in the saddle, and it was almost as if I was back in the control of my own destiny. I wasn't being thrown forward by Tet into some sink or swim situation, or quietly manipulated into wanting to do what others wanted me to do…

I was in absolute control of myself and my fate. What route I took, how fast I rode, I had the choice. Whether I lived or died was determined by my luck, my skill at riding, and how well I'd put the thing back together over the weekend.

My luck bag was empty, my skill bag wasn't even a quarter full… and for some reason the ABS warning light was on, despite the brakes working fine.

Not taking any chances in the wet, I didn't have any moments… aside from slide when braking across a manhole cover that the ABS caught… fortunately. It still scared the hell out of me, not because falling off a bike at under 10mph was really just going to be embarrassing, but because I had the horrid feeling that nobody in this city would brake, or even notice if I fell in front of them.

Hmm, I wonder if that sense of control was why Priss rode?

I passed a few binmen, picketing beside their parked up truck. _Citizone_ green waste disposal. It was a tangerine orange truck.

"Men before Mannequins," one of their placards read, "More human jobs! Less welfare payments"

Hence the Boomer Taxation act being debated in the Diet, whereby an annual tax per-unit would be levied upon all cyberdroid owners, to pay the mounting social welfare costs of displaced workers. The People wanted it, The Corporations didn't. One had votes, the other had money…

In politics, with elections a few years away, guess which came first?

And while those men were striking, GENOM salesmen were reminding their employers that cyberdroids never formed unions, or joined pickets, never complained about working conditions, or health insurance, they just worked.

As much as the world had moved on from 2010, or 1910, some things never changed.

I spent so much time watching them, I nearly ran into the drivers door of a taxi, the driver of which had been rubbernecking at the same thing. Git should watch where he's driving…

My thoughts kept being drawn to Priss though, and what I'd told her on Saturday evening. I glanced down at my reflection in the clocks, and saw only a dark helmet, and the vague outline of a human form beneath it.

It felt the same. It smelt the same… more or less.

Certain that I'm not a copy?

The BMW was proof. Cast aluminium, welded steel and moulded fibreglass. This bike, and my computer were the only artefacts I had, beyond the memories in my head, to prove those memories weren't just a programmer's joke. I or he…..or whatever… had been a real person. And something about the big Bee-Em felt a lot more solid and real than that Dell laptop, it proved my family existed, my dog, my home…. And more things than that.

It _was_ home in a way, what was left of it, one last little fragment of what had once been reality.

I sighed inside my helmet, suddenly feeling completely and utterly alone, and appallingly homesick.

Appropriately, a pair of GENOM G12 mounted THP patrol-bikers then took it upon themselves to pull me to the side of the road, and give a half hearted lecture on the importance of wearing proper government approved safety-gear, while joyfully inspecting every inch of the machine.

They were friendly, polite and really just curious about the bike. They left me standing petrified for a few minutes, before riding off with a congenial "Ride safely,"

Well, that was certainly different…

And at the same time, absolutely terrifying.

I tried to reassure myself with the simple knowledge that no boomer could be terminated, until it was made certain it was a boomer. The only surefire way to be certain I was a 33-S, and not a biomimetic boomeroid, was lethal, meaning I could never be confirmed as a boomer, without actually saying so. The Catch 22 was, my cover was as a boomeroid, and boomeroids were handled automatically by the AD Police… as boomers.

Any attempt to save myself by claiming I wasn't a boomer… I get shot. Vice versa, I get shot.

In both cases, the only thing saving my neck was the fact that the ADP officer had to form a 'valid opinion that I was an immediate threat to public safety' before he pulled the trigger.

That little caveat was a paper shield if I ever saw one.

-----

Inside the parking garage under Lady633, I parked up beside a red 300SL… replica. That was so disappointing. It looked enticingly like the real thing, right until I found the car's tax disk in the window, listing it as a Mercedes S450 originally built in 2020.

Nice job though.

And I laughed at the mild irony of a replica human, being a little put off by a replica car.

I wasn't nervous in anyway, I wasn't apprehensive. I wasn't excited, I just sort of 'was'. In a strange way, it felt even more unreal than that replica car, like I might wake up back in my bed on a Monday morning any minute now…

I thought I'd be a quivering jelly of nerves, but no, I was strangely calm. There was definitely no technology involved in it controlling hormones, no secret boomer self defence programs or combat controllers kicking in.

Some of the cars in there were interesting, the other residents here obviously being pretty well-to-do also. I spent a few minutes gazing and an old Alpine A310, with a few cans of Yebisu and an old red jacket on the front seat, a matte black Skyline GT-R, the R32 version I think, with a fat pipe, and an impressive looking shark-nosed 2015 M6, gazing head on at a nearly-new GENOM Lowe saloon, parked beside a Sturm-Tiger sports coupe.

You could tell a GENOM executive a mile off… apparently, while GENOM were responsible for more than two thirds of the world's cars, _nobody_ but GENOM executives bought GENOM sportscars, or GENOM luxury cars.

The world's most popular car was the GENOM Maus, and variants… 4 wheels and a fifth to steer with, 4 seats, a multifuel engine that could run on just about any flammable liquid, and not much else. The Third World ran on the things.

But enough automotive gratification, I was here for a job. I found a lift in the back, beside a Toyota van. The sub-basement and penthouse could be accessed only by a complicated looking key, or a call button.

I felt the first nervous thrill of excitement run through my body as I pushed the button.

"Stingray," the lift speaker answered,

"It's me," who idiot? "Deckard, I'm here for the job,"

"Ah Good, I'll bring you downstairs. Something's come up that we have to talk about,"

What? I wondered, before remembering Nené the day before, I'll bet Sylia wasn't too pleased alright. I suddenly felt very small, and very ill. The doors opened, drawing me forward into the same mirrored carriage, closing behind me. The lift dropped abruptly, causing my lunch to rise up the back of my throat.

What was Sylia thinking? First she outright tells me that she doesn't want to have me as a Saber, because of Tet, then, if I understood Nené right, she's testing me for membership anyway. Why?

Testing, or grooming? A sudden bolt of anger sent shudders through my frame. She _knew_ I'd join the mission, the money was tantalising, and the chance to make up and save Irene soothed my conscience.

What was going on behind that calm demeanour?

I didn't want to be that sheep being nudged up that final alley. Yes I can say no, but it's so much easier to say yes. Well then, I should say No!... a resounding, Ian Paisley NO, just to prove that I can't and won't be treated like this.

But, if I _want_ to say yes?

Saying no for the sake of saying no is stupid.

I knew what was going on… at least I had that in my favour… I had all, or most of, the information. I could make a clean choice if it came up. Be confident, cool, and in control.

Easier said than done.

The doors opened again to a brightly lit laboratory-slash-workshop. The walls where white, the floor a hard-wearing industrial green, polished so clean I could see my reflection. I felt ashamed to be dripping water. Something vaguely humanoid, but too large to be human was laid out on a workbench beside me, hidden by a white sheet. Cables and conduits led from under the sheeting to an inactive mobile workstation, and a transparent tank full of blood-red hydraulic oil.

A few sharp angles from underneath had tugged the sheet tantalisingly taught.

A motoroid perhaps?

"Sylia, I'm here," I announced, my voice nervously quiet.

"I'm in the back," she answered, her voice coming through an armoured door locked open. Through it, I could see a light, what might've been the edge of a workstation computer.

Three motorslaves were parked beside a dividing wall, opposite what looked like a CNC milling machine, and some sort of liquid filled tank with a long articulated arm arching over it. It looked like some rapid prototyping equipment I'd once used, but beefier somehow. A few activity lights flickered red, the machine tools standing idle.

The room smelled of oil, gasohol, WD-40, ozone and what might've been burning plastic. Some more machines I didn't understand gathered around another empty workbench, arranged around a human-shaped workbench, arms, legs and head, with cut-outs for cable routing and access.

This is where the hardsuits were built…

I stopped for a moment, feeling sick, feeling giddy, feeling like a child in a chocolate factory, surrounded by wondrous things I couldn't quite comprehend, but I knew the end product was awesome.

Feeling a little like a trespasser in the garden of mechanical Eden, I quietly inspected one of the 'slaves, a matte green one. It looked like no motorcycle on earth, cables and connectors running through and around what might've been an engine, machined gold sockets staring back at me from the seat, hand controls and fuel tank. A blank LCD screen showed nothing but the same titanium grey as the rear-wheel casings. I crouched down, placing a tentative hand against the front swingarm. The vanes in the wheel were scorched by heat, like the inside of a jet turbine, but the arm itself was almost shockingly cold.

And apparently milled from one solid block of aluminium.

I could see the tool marks running along the surface, with rounded corners where clearance had to be allowed for the mill itself. Braided steel hydraulic lines were carefully lockwired into place, running to the brakes, and what looked to be a hydraulic motor built into the front wheel hub. It was an _exquisite_ thing, intricate and hand assembled with the greatest of care, yet it somehow projected an aura of pure mechanical strength, almost as if it had been hewn by Prometheus himself from one solid billet.

I could see how it worked, the joints and servomotors which powered the transformation and propelled it forwards. In the metal, it all made perfect sense.

"Oh wow," I whimpered, awestruck.

I was shivering. I felt as if I was a mortal sinner for leaving the smallest of fingerprints on the polished metal, like Eve taking a bite of the apple. I moved on in a hurry before God appeared.

This room, this was a wondrous place, an Aladdin's cave for engineers. Not even a personal tour of the Enterprise by Scotty himself could top this. For one thing, if I really looked at things, I could just about comprehend how they worked, and why they worked that way.

I nearly stumbled through the door, greeted first by a single vaguely anthropomorphic, almost human-sized figure, headless, and hunched forward almost, with its legs cut short. The head, was on the steel table beside it.

It was Nené's hardsuit.

If I could've, I would've gone to bed with it. I wanted one so badly it hurt…

"What do you think?" somebody asked. I barely heard them.

"Awesome,"

I tried not to drool, I tried to take my eyes off of the mechanical wonder and address the person speaking to me, but I couldn't.

The blue and pink paint on the armour was scratched in places, the dull ceramic underneath showing itself. I could see how the suit flowed across the human body, and worked with the feminine form, almost like a piece of steel lingerie. Inside, it was lined with what looked like neoprene, a few golden plugs glinting back at me. The suit was missing its vanes, they were lying beside the helmet on the workbench, and part of the computer inside was exposed through a meticulously milled stainless steel screen.

I shivered as I struggled to breathe.

"It's beautiful," I said, barely whispering.

A dinner fit for Caligula could've been served on my eyes as I inspected every last little detail. There were connection points to match those on the motoslaves, a small filler-cap marked H20 on the backpack. Parts were plastic where it made sense for them to be plastic, such as insulators, ceramic around high temperature areas, like the single booster nozzle under the computer, and precisely machined metal everywhere else.

And still, it showed a fashion designers eye for the female figure. The armour flowed across the body, working with the wearer's natural curves, rather than against them.

"Thank you," said Sylia.

I wanted to touch it, but I didn't dare, I just swallowed my lust and tried to focus my thoughts. This was why she wanted to meet me down here, not up in her apartment, or at the garage. She wanted me to see this.

"Nené was right," she continued, "Even if she wasn't supposed to mention it." Her voice betrayed mild annoyance, "I was watching you in the garage, and this is, or was supposed to be, a test,"

"I guessed the first part," my voice quivered out while I tried to regain control. I should be filled with indignant fury, not awestruck by a shiny hardsuit… sooo shiny…."But why test, when you say you do not want me, on first day?"

"I said I didn't want to be bullied or coerced into accepting a new member," corrected the leader of the Knight Sabers, "Not that there would never be an open position,"

"Shit," I swore under my breath, not quite believing it.

"I wanted to wait until after the mission, originally. But I didn't want to leave Nené's indiscretion hanging over your head the entire time. I'm sure you'll agree, the last thing anyone needs at a time like this is a distraction,"

I was shivering, shaking like my own personal earthquake, and I had no idea why. Blazing excitement warred with blistering terror, and a few sparks of anger I was trying desperately to stoke.

"This is fucked up," I muttered half to myself, shaking my head. "I don't know, I really don't know. No hasty choice,"

I needed to sit down. Badly.

"That would be wise," she half chuckled, "This is a big commitment. You'll have to change apartments to one nearer here for one thing, it'll ruin any night time plans you'll ever make, and it'll be unlikely you'll get a chance to leave the city any time soon,"

So I'd have to give up on my goal of going home then.

"And I might die," I added. Deep breath. I was starting to sober up a little. "I wanted go home, using money from mission,"

"That won't be possible,"

Again, I nodded. I seriously wished I could sleep on it, but this really wasn't something I wanted hanging over my head when the bullets started flying. My heart wanted to do one thing, while my head just spun around in dizzy circles.

Which is exactly what I think Sylia had intended.

I wished I could faint, just to buy more time to think about it. But no, I had to answer. Here and now. Another deep breath, and another step on the road to damnation.

It reminded me of some sort of mortgage ad from the TV. Shiny new house, brilliant car, suit of powered armour, lots of money, happy safe family in their own home, the suddenly the obligatory acknowledgement that you've signed your soul over to the devil, after a year the house will worth much less than you still owe, and that you better not miss a payment or you'll go straight to hell.

"Always small print," I said, exhaling. "I should be furious," I laughed nervously, "I know why I here and not in penthouse,"

"And why might that be?" asked Sylia, feigning being wounded

"Because I not resist a hardsuit,"

That woman was, is, and forever will be the master of the mindgame.

"That's part of it, yes," she admitted with a wry smile, "But also because the suit itself needed to be repaired, and the firing range is down here."

I just nodded again. A sheep in the presence of her master. All according to the plan, somebody else's anyway. Story of my life. Here goes. "I'll do it,"

I think mice fart louder than my voice was when I said that.

Sylia nodded, extending a hand, "Welcome to the Knight Sabers, Meg"

I took it warily, being surprised at just how hard the skin on her palm was, and how firmly she gripped.

"Thank You," I forced out.

There was something strangely cathartic about it. Getting shot at by one single boomer on one single mission didn't seem so bad, considering I'd just agreed to do it for a living.

I suddenly felt like running out of there, screaming.

"I can get the baseline data for your new hardsuit next Sunday, and it will take about a month to construct. With luck, that will be enough time,"

I suddenly realised just what she was doing, and why she wanted a 5th member.

"Before things _Blow up?_"

I hoped she'd recognise the episode titles I'd told her.

"Exactly. Whether Mason believes that the DVD disks represent the real Knight Sabers or not, is a moot point, we have to proceed as if he does," a gentle mischievous glint sparked in her eyes for a moment, "I for one would like to have something to surprise him with, in case he decides to move against us."

Us, now including me. Oh damn.

"So you believe… the disks are real?"

"Ever since the Superboomer at the Kawasaki factory opened itself up to reveal the Satellite controller," she told me in a surprisingly straight shot. "I'm sorry for keeping it from you, and I do apologise for being so harsh and direct at the time, but I think you understand why I had to do it,"

I didn't know what to say, I just looked down at my booted feet. I didn't really, not right away anyway, but I gave a gentle nod nonetheless.

"Good," she knew I didn't, but she moved on anyway, "Now, back to today's business. It wouldn't do to have our newest member shoot themselves by accident,"

"No, it wouldn't" I gave a false laugh, trying to sooth my own spinning head with humour

On to the firing range.

I've never fired a gun in my life…. Not counting my electric experiments. I wasn't in any way excited, I was still too overwhelmed, and terrified I'd embarrass myself by breaking something.

-----

Sylia Stingray could read people's minds, that was the only logical conclusion. How else could she have done it? It was only with ten minutes cold reflection that I fully understood what she'd done, and what she had planned.

Once she'd decided on a Fifth Saber to surprise Mason, she looked for a candidate. Since I already knew about the group, and had the same knowledge as Mason, I was the logical choice. The only problem was, she had to make me want to do it. I'd specifically said I never wanted to be a hero…

First, from the moment I left Lady633 with her harsh warnings ringing in my ears, she waited and watched how I lived in the city. She watched for any more interference from Tet, or for me to run to one of the corp's to make a quick buck. Once it became clear that I wasn't going to betray the Sabers, that I wasn't reporting back to anyone or that no-one was secretly watching me and using me as an unwitting pawn, she moved forward to the next stage.

Second, she offered bait, a 'dangerous' job with money and a soothed conscience as a reward. She knew my conscience would bug me over Irene, or the money would attract me, so she knew I'd say yes to one. If I didn't, then I really was serious and she'd leave me alone, but if I went along to the meeting, she had me hooked. It meant I was open to the possibility of leading 'the heroic lifestyle'.

Next, there was a test of my perseverance, my willingness to carry through with what I'd agreed to, and a little more on top of that. It also tested my competency as a mechanic, my understanding of technology, and my ability to learn and adapt. If I couldn't do it, then I couldn't do it, the mission would continue somehow, and I'd've gotten a nice paycheck and a thank you for my troubles when it was done.

But I did, and so got the emotional payoff from completing the task fully, and the physical reward of a full body service to reinforce the idea that good things come to those who forge on through unpleasantness.

Next, she showed me the hardware of the Sabers, up close and personal, something she knew no person of an engineering mentality could resist. It was the seed of another juicy carrot planted in the back of my mind. That was when she asked the Big Question, but if Nené hadn't blown it, for which I was assured she would be punished by paying for a 'Welcome to the Club' meal, the final test would've been the actual mission itself.

If the mission was completed, I passed. Along with the nice juicy paycheck, while I was riding on an emotional and adrenaline high, she would've popped the Big Question, probably from inside her hardsuit, by which time I would've been powerless to resist.

If I got killed, the whole thing was rendered moot.

Masterful, truly masterful. I really should've been mad, but the truth was, I was much too impressed by how she'd done it, and it was hard to be angry with a person who'd been so calm, comforting and polite about it. She'd eased me gently into it, rather than throwing me blindly forward. With hindsight, I figured that if I'd called her on it, she'd've happily come clean then still carried on regardless with a new backup plan.

Remind me never to play chess against her.

-----

As a welcome-to-the-club gift, Sylia'd arranged for a new set of leathers, boots and a helmet which would link up with the new radio fitted to the bike. It was pretty anonymous black, except for some grey trim, but it was properly armoured, surprisingly flexible for new leather, properly waterproof, and properly sexy…

Sylia had an eye for the feminine figure alright, and I looked shit-fucking hot. My butt could cause an accident… people paying attention to me, and not the road.

Something about that thought made me feel strangely giddy. I had another set of similar leathers for 'Irene Can' along with a spare helmet, which I stashed in the bikes pannier, alongside my jacket, jeans and old boots.

I also managed to surprise myself with how well I could shoot… for a beginner anyway. I had a boomer's hand-eye coordination. I'd decided on a Misaki M42-A1, the same weapon used by the ADP. It felt like a toy in my hands, more plastic than metal, a little rattly… the sort of thing that'd have 'Made in China' stamped on the side and shoot little 1-joule pellets. Even the sound it made as it fired, a hard crack with a metallic ring, a little like a golfball struck hard by a driver, was nothing like the thunderous boom I'd expected. The weapon recoiled, but it didn't blast my shoulder off.

It really did feel like a toy.

The fist-sized chunk the 5.7mm round knocked out of the target though, was very, very real.

And thinking about it suddenly reminded me of my own mortality. If it could kill a human outright, it could kill me outright too. I was a biomimetic android, not a combat model. Just a single 5.7mm round, not even to the head, would be enough to drop me.

And I was going to ride into an ambush where hundreds of these things would be flying about, where even more deadly firepower could well be aimed right at my head. And I'd agreed to do this, not just once, but as a paying job.

I sat astride my bike, gloved hands on the bars, shivering, whimpering, panting and trying not to throw up. I've just thrown my life away… I've just gotten myself killed… if not today, then soon. Shot to pieces, blown apart or bloodily ripped limb from limb… take your pick.

My stomach finally had enough of it with that mental image… I vomited a chime mixture of breakfast, lunch and reaction catalyst across the bonnet of a sparkling white Toyota parked beside, wretched violently enough to bend 'something' inside, then fired once more.

Quivering like a turkey at Christmas, and suddenly feeling fatally exhausted, I dropped down onto my bike's fuel tank, resting my head lazily against the instruments. My gut gurgled and complained as I spat the last of that disgusting brew out.

The smell of petrol and hot oil cloaked the vomit as best they could.

"Why did I do it?" I asked myself out loud.

Because I wanted to.

"Why did I want to do it then?"

Because Sylia made me want to do it.

But did she really, or did she just latch onto something that was already there? If on day one, she'd asked if I wanted to don a shining hardsuit and fight the good fight, would I really have said No?

I honestly didn't know.

'Well, I'm now a Knight Saber,' I thought. It didn't excite me; at least not once the cold reality of what that actually meant had begun to sink in. It wasn't just a case of swanning around in shiny suits popping steel cannon fodder. A brutal death lingered behind every corner. One misstep at the wrong moment, one stroke of bad luck, just the one time no matter how often I'd won, and that'd be it….game over.

"Fuck it anyway,"

I started the bike. I had a job to do, and I was suddenly starving hungry. Even a condemned man gets a final meal.

I'd condemned myself, the least I could do was feed myself as well. Good food this time, from a decent sushi place. At least I could die happy.

At least Sylia and I had agreed not to tell anyone else, until tonight.

-----

I pulled into the hospital carpark ten minutes early, chaining the bike up by its frame. I was welcomed by an electronic sign.

_MegaTo__o Mercy Hospi_al_, it read, some of the backlit letters having failed thanks to the penetrating rain. The whole lot suddenly went dark, shorting itself out with a puff of blue smoke. When it rained in Megatokyo, it _rained._

Acid rain dragged pollution down from the atmosphere, blackening concrete, attacking steel, and slowly fingering its way into each and every exposed piece of electronic equipment, eating away over time at any protective seals.

Nothing lasted if left outside for long enough. Only glass seemed to resist it.

The rain could even give susceptible people a rash, if they were unlucky. It was one in a ten thousand, at most, but that was still a lot of people in this city. Supposedly, it was the factories in Kawasaki that did it, or the gasohol fumes, though nobody could prove anything and anyone who tried got sued out onto the streets.

I was calm enough, calmer than I expected to be anyway. I was a little twitchy, a bit edgy, but I wasn't a basket case. I knew what I had to do, and I could do it. I had to keep my food where it belonged, speak a few lines, not forget Priss' disguise gear and… shit…

With my imaginary tail between my legs, I doubled back to the bike and retrieved the bag.

Outside, the hospital looked like just another rainwashed skyscraper in this megatropolis, identified only by the single large neon green cross on each façade of the building's crown. At least I didn't need health insurance; most pathogens took one look at my systems and gave up. That and most medicines either just plain wouldn't work, or made things much worse.

So no painkillers or paracetamol for headaches….

Trying to exhale my apprehension, I took my helmet off… it's always good manners, and went in through the front doors.

Inside, through almost an airlock of automatic doors, guarded by an actual human security guard in a navy uniform who smiled thoughtfully at me, the first thing that struck me was the stink of chlorine. It smashed my senses like a wall, muddying my sense of smell, making my eyes water, and disabling my pheromone senses entirely.

It was like being blinded for an instant, before I readjusted.

Greeting me was a large waiting area, just about big enough to park a few trucks side-by-side. It was about half full, most people inside seeming to be reasonably well to do. A few families buzzed around, waiting for mommy or daddy, some parents hugged each other. It felt a little like an airport waiting terminal, with the check-in desks at the far end.

There was one separate check-in area per insurance company accepted by the hospital, a desk for information, and one final area for the uninsured. The only cyberdroids in the entire building were the ones behind the reception desk.

"May I help you, miss?" a platinum haired one requested. Just another pale-skinned mannequin, with those same dead eyes, probably turned out from the same factory floor. The only thing different were the clothes it wore; a powder blue blouse, a hard wearing skirt, and a pair of cheap plastic shoes.

Remember the words… deep breath… play the part. I'm only here to pick a woman up, nothing more. Swallow your fears…

"I am here to pick-up discharge patient," what was Irene's pseudonym again, "Her name is Miki Itou,"

The cyberdroid entered the name, its fingers a working almost metronomically… and it still stared at me. It didn't even need to look down at the terminal screen.

"You must please give your name, Miss…"

Another demand phrased as the most polite request imaginable.

"Susan Keith," I answered.

"Thank you," it acknowledged, keying the name in while I quietly prayed it didn't ask for id. Sylia had been certain they wouldn't, but there was always the exception at the worst possible moment.

"Room A225, Toshio Suzuki memorial private ward. Follow Blue route four to elevator nine. There is a Miss Oomori and a Miss Tomizawa signed in as visitors. Thank You and Good Day."

"Thanks,"

I wondered to myself why I'd bothered, when I knew beyond doubt that it really was just an appliance, a Bu-72-D, with a type-9 AI. And thanks to those obvious toasters, all cyberdroids were tarred with the same 'talking white-goods' brush.

Carrying my helmet under one arm, I pushed through the hospital corridors, keeping my eyes on the blue line. The signs were bilingual, but the English parts weren't in any English I knew.

All I knew was I was heading towards Paediatrics, Cardiographology, Cybercerebral Imaging and several recovery wards. The corridors themselves were wide enough to drive a car through; one wall made up of offices, private beds, wards and examination rooms filled with God knows what medical technology.

All was white and sterile.

The other wall was assaulted by the monsoon outside, the city outside melting in the sheeting rain. I was still dripping spots of dirty water as I walked, staining the polished floor and drawing sour looks.

I passed a melancholic young woman sitting in a wheelchair who screamed as I walked by her. My heart spasmed, my whole body trying to break into a panicked run. Had somebody figured out what I was? I asked myself, What was happening?

I glanced around frantically…

No sign of a combat boomer bearing down on me with claws drawn, nobody with a pistol aimed at my head. Just a woman, surrounded by blue-bloused nurses and a white-coated doctor as she wailed in agony.

How did I do that? I wondered, guiltily. I wanted to apologise, but I wasn't suite sure what I'd done. Instead, I just hurried away before somebody put 2 and 2 together and decided to ask questions. When you're an unregistered cyberdroid entering a building on a false name, the last thing you want is people asking questions you're going to run out of answers to very quickly.

I took a few moments to calm down in the solitude of a brushed steel lift. I forced my free hand into my pocket to stop it shaking, tried to focus my thoughts on what I had to do, not on what would happen if I got caught, and generally failed at both.

I was aware of each and every CCTV camera and security guard I passed. Each and every set of eyes in the building watched me as I tried to get through the building as anonymously as possible, but a figure hugging set of leathers and a sexaroids body made it anything but…

I tried not to look at the guards, or the cameras… that was the worst thing you could do. If you look at them, it means you're interested in them, and that begs the question; why are you so interested in what the guards are doing?

So, I hurried on, focusing on nothing more than a sign at a junction dead ahead that read "Toshio Suzuki Memorial Ward 2027". A dark haired, well built woman was stretchered past me, my reflection shimmering across the surface of her steel right arm. I glanced at her a moment, flexing my own arm before returning my attention to that same sign again.

It was a cool relief to finally find the door marked A225. Overcome by the strange sensation that I might've been followed, I glanced over both shoulders. Nobody seemed to be watching me. Good. The door slid open, and I stepped inside.

The room was small, barely big enough for the bed, a table, and a chair. Priss was sitting in her own red leathers, legs crossed and using the table as a footstool. The singer sported a brand new hairstyle, her trademark fringe trimmed short with a straight edge, with a spread of hair like a bird's tail feathers at the back, uniform and clean cut, and dyed a much deeper, almost mahogany brown.

It was a perfect match for the young woman in the bed, being fussed over by her black haired friend.

"Took you long enough," Priss commented.

"It is monsoon out," I defended "I have clothes for disguise," I held up the sopping wet bag for all to see.

"I hope they're dry," remarked the singer, already undoing her boots.

"Meg, I'm just finishing Irene off here," said Linna, looking up from her hairdressing kit just long enough to acknowledge I'd arrived.

"Hi," Irene almost whispered, and I suddenly felt like running out through that door.

"Hey," I tried to give her a smile, and felt like an idiot for doing it. "How are you?"

"Much better," she said, "My new arm still feels a little weird though,"

She showed it to me, comparing it with her other hand. They looked identical, exact mirror images of each other. Linna'd told me, that rather than go through the bother of pinning the bones together, and months of agonizing recovery, they'd just replaced it with a biomimetic.

"It looks real," I said,

She gripped her hand tightly shut, smiling at me for a moment,

"Meg Deckard here is a boomeroid," Linna told her, earning a sharp glare from me for a second.

"It was either this," I pointed to my chest, "or death,"

"I can't imagine that," she said, almost sullenly, "It's not my arm, but it feels like it is. Anything I touch, feels almost like I'm touching it through a glove,"

"You'll get used to it," I reassured, trying to be confident about it. "Better than old ones,"

She nodded thoughtfully, holding her artificial hand in front of her eyes.

"More trouble than they're worth," Priss threw her opinion into the ring, already stripped down to her underwear. "Especially maintenance, and interface issues. And boomer syndrome,"

"But bioneumatics don't have that problem, do they?" wondered Linna out loud, getting the word wrong in the progress.

"Nope," I said, "I never have problem with it. I know what I am."

Priss gave me an odd look, while I silently cursed myself for not saying 'who' like I'd meant to.

"Didn't you keep that bike as an anchor?" she asked me, anchor referring to anything used by boomeroid level cyborgs to remind themselves of who they are, to hold their personalities in place against the tide of the machine.

I just nodded. "But one arm, it's not going to be a problem, I mean, would you let me stab a knife through it?" I asked Irene

"No!" she yelped, cradling it suspiciously to her chest,

"See," I smirked. "Protect like original. It means something so no problem."

I had no idea what I was trying to say, maybe something about how her mind feels it's her own arm enough to protect it as if it was. Truth was I was bullshitting out my hole, and succeeding.

Priss was now naked as the day God made her, and I could see the scars of her life written across her body. There were white bubbles that had once been road rash spattered across her legs, hips and arms, sharp white slashes across her stomach, shoulder and along one of her forearms. She practiced what she preached alright, one of her legs showed the tell-tale signs of having been pinned together with some outside supports. Reminding me of the job offer I'd just taken were the still healing burns on her shoulder and a pink splash just above her hip.

I honestly questioned for a second, if she was really human, to be able to take all that punishment, and still look so beautiful.

"A change inside the body still brings a change in consciousness," she said, her expression neutral "And give me my damn clothes, Deckard, I'm not going out naked,"

I offered the bag I'd nearly forgotten about, which she snatched gruffly from my hand. Evergreen and ocean blue leathers, a contrast to the red Priss normally preferred, along with silken underwear, courtesy of Sylia.

"I guess I better get dressed then," Irene said, and sounded more nervous than I did. Again, I was glad I wasn't the only one.

"Not until I've finished you're hair," Linna held her down gently, "I have to make you look like Priss here, remember?"

"There's no rush anyway," remarked Asagiri with a smirk, "Mackie's still probably unloading the truck,"

"I wonder if they've had to give him a blood transfusion yet," wondered the fitness instructor, finger to her lips, "With all the nosebleeds he's having, he'll need one,"

The four women in the room giggled musically. It felt good to be part of the group; it broke the stress and tension of the upcoming day's work.

"He might ruin the merchandise," I warned. "Especially unload one at time by hand,"

"How can we be sure he didn't just roll around in the back on top of the open boxes?" Priss asked, now almost dressed,

"Or try them on?" Linna wondered.

I glanced out the window in the door, seeing there were no Peeping Toms stealing a glance, just in case.

Priss gave us a twirl in her disguise, "What do you think?"

She looked so much like Irene, it was uncanny. Give her a white blouse and a loose skirt, and she'd be a dead match for Irene on that first night.

"Shows off figure nice," I said. "Real good hips".

A trademark of Sylia's, apparently.

"Looks just like you, Irene," chipped in Linna.

"It feels weird," was Irene's opinion. "I think you look like more my sister, actually."

"It'll have to do," shrugged Priss, "Besides, somebody now has to dress as the greatest singer in Megatokyo, or this won't work," Her eyes sparked menacingly. Terrible things were going to happen to Irene, especially since Priss' worn leathers seemed just a little on the too-big side for Irene's slight figure.

Somehow, it worked. It was almost funny. Priss had a much deeper voice than Irene, and watching to two women speak with what seemed to be each other's voices was surprisingly funny. There were telltale signs of course; different eye colour being the main one, but it was close enough so that unless you stopped either of them and checked, you wouldn't be able to tell.

And a decent pair of sunglasses could cover that

"We're ready," real Priss told Sylia through a mobile phone.

"I hope this works," ersatz Priss said, looking entirely too nervous for the part. It really was like watching a first-timer cosplaying.

"Mackie should be done soon," Linna said, "I guess _Priss_ and I will go help him,"

_Priss_ giggled in a way real-Priss never would have. It was funny to watch, especially with Irene's voice a register higher than Priss' in the first place.

"Me and _Irene_ will get on road," I said, feeling the weight of responsibility drop right onto my shoulders.

This was my part and my part alone. _Irene_ looked about as thrilled as you'd expect her to be about it. She was going along with it because she was under orders.

"So," _Irene_ started, hands on her leathered hips, "Where did you park?"

It'd just be my luck if the bike had been stolen in the mean time, wouldn't it?

-----

"It's been a while since I've been pillion," Priss said offhand.

Outside, I could feel her discomfort radiating hot and uneasy. She stood, holding one arm with the other, keeping a quick lookout while I got the bike unlocked.. Under the concrete shelter I'd parked the bike under, it was dry enough, except for a few spots blown in on a gusting wind, but the rest of the car-park was fast becoming a shallow black lake.

"This weather. I hate rain ride," I said, my hands betraying my true feelings by shaking as I tried to unlock the chain. I couldn't get the key into the hole.

"How long have you been riding?"

About two months,

"Not long," I answered, trying to dodge around. Reflect the question. "And you?"

"Since I was sixteen," she said. "Might've been going nowhere, but at least I could go nowhere fast,"

I wasn't sure what to make of that, Priss' lifestyle was completely out of my sphere of knowledge. Up until a month ago, I'd been the normal, ordinary person with a home, family, college.

"Fast... I not want crash,"

I didn't care for crashing at all. I'd done it twice before.

"Crash happens." shrugged the master of motorcycle mayhem. "You don't become a better rider if you don't push your own limits and learn from your mistakes,"

"Dead don't learn," I snarked.

"Don't push too far then," Priss rebutted caustically.

The chain came loose and I stashed it roughly in the pannier with my clothes.

"Especially in monsoon."

Fucking weather.

"Real bikers ride in all weather,"

Well, it kept my mind off other things, anyway,,

"I not real biker," I stated my case, "I am commuter who got bike because more fun and better in traffic than car."

"A bike is always better than a cage," Priss gave me a thumb's-up.

"Even in weather like this," I agreed.

Funnily enough, that was almost true. At least I was dry thanks to the waterproofs, and normally, I'd be out of it quicker. The roads were also a hundred times more lethal, and drowning seemed to have become a possibility.

The bike fired up with a characteristic judder, helmets on, saddle up, and deep breath. I felt Priss' weight behind me, depressing the seat down. It was strange, she made a specific effort not to touch me. She kept her legs apart, and held herself as far back on the seat as she comfortably could.

It was another needle to my gut that reminded me just how much she trusted me.

"Wow, this is actually pretty comfy," I heard her comment over the intercom, her voice a little muffled, but still surprised. That one compliment made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Fidgeting in the seat, I gassed the engine gently, feeling my fears buzz through my body. Lightning flickered overhead and through my veins, thunder rolling through my stomach.

"Are you ready for this then?" I heard Priss' voice ask, distant and tinny.

I swallowed my apprehension, and just focused on doing what I had to do. This was my show now; I'd better make it a good one. Ten miles through the city… 16000 metres, that's all. Just that little distance forward, the multiply and repeat. One metaphorical foot in front of the other. Easy, right?

I didn't believe that for a second, but it made me feel a little better. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes for second. Be calm, first step. "Let's do this,"

Set radio Channel 288. Code AE85. Mode: OPEN Lock as Preset 1

"Knight-Leader, this is Knight-Rider." I spoke in what I hoped was a cool clear voice, "Tiger has her stripes." What was the other part of the fucking code again? Right" "No sign of poachers,"

"Knight-Rider, Knight-Leader, acknowledged. Broadcast diversion 1," came Sylia's terse, commanding reply.

"Wilco," I said, for no reason other than saying 'Wilco' and meaning it.

Channel 175, Code S13, Mode: NRW. Lock as Preset 2. Now let's give GENOM something to listen in on. One thing that had been given away, were the original radio codes to be used.

"Knight-Leader, this is Knight-Rider," I repeated. "Idle at starting point. Tiger is in the bag, awaiting instructions,"

"Knight-Rider, Knight-Leader, acknowledged" was Sylia's repeated reply. "Proceed at discretion to ensure safe arrival,"

"Yeah, this weather is nuts," I complained, suddenly feeling breathless. Priss groaned behind me. "Wilco"

Switching back to Preset 1, I hooshed the bike down off its centre stand, no problem so far. The stand snapped up with a the same solid crack as always, the machine bouncing on its suspension. Priss fidgeted in the seat as she adjusted her balance.

"Wait for Sylia," Priss instructed as I grunted with the effort of paddling over 300 kilos backwards.

"Yeah, yeah," I puffed.

"Knight-Leader, this is Knight-Light," I heard Nené's voice. "Tiger's Den is dark."

Meaning the Hou-Bang ambush was properly hidden, and there were no GENOM agents hovering around to shine a light on it.

"Acknowledged," Sylia responded.

"Knight-Leader, this is Knight-Guard," It was Linna's turn, "Cheetah has her spots, The Watcher is in the driving seat. No sign of poachers." Perfectly professional. "Or peekers."….Or not.

"Acknowledged,"

I glanced at the vehicles in the carpark, a stray few braving the rain before their cars floated away. Any one of them, could be loaded with my death. I scanned for blacked out windows, dark coloured GENOM Automotive saloons, any obvious 'secret agent' type cars.

Nothing stood out. Maybe the rain kept them away. Ride through the wet, don't crash. They won't follow. No guns, no fighting, no dance with death, Irene is safe, and the whole mission ends in a beautiful damp squib…emphasis on the damp….Please God.

I don't know what made me think the man upstairs would be more likely to listen to me anyway tonight, than he was a month ago. Whatever it was would be proved wrong anyway.

The little microphone in my ear hissed to life once more.

"Knight Sabers, _sanjo_"

Thrills of giddy excitement reverberated through my body with those words. I almost expected the view through my visor to cut away for a moment, to an animated image of Sylia standing on some rooftop, lightning splitting the sky behind her.

Not that Sylia Stingray would be dumb enough to stand on top of a towerblock in a thunderstorm.

A tidal surge of new confidence rushed through me.

"Yes!" five women's voices barked.

I giggled privately, crunching the bike into gear. Here goes everything…

I stalled it, the big BMW guttering forward, coughing then going embarrassingly quiet for the briefest of shameful instants, before peals of Priss' mocking laughter rang in my ears,

"Nice one, Meg," she placed a warm hand on my shoulder.

Any confidence I had, dissolved as I dropped down to the tank, hiding from the shame of it. Even the fuel-pump seemed to be mocking, burbling, buzzing and hissing at me. I gave an exasperated growl, pulling the clutch in and stabbing at the starter.

The bike fired up once more, I gave it an enthusiastic handful of throttle and lurched away hard enough to frighten Priss for the briefest moment.

"Watch it!" her voice blasted in my ear.

"Sorry," I muttered, not even close to being.

I didn't stall a second time, I made sure of it. I'd never live that down. I crawled through the carpark, rain pattering and rattling off the tank and fairing. There were a few cars moving, but none of them seemed too interested in us.

"Maybe they won't come out in the rain," I wondered aloud, hopefully.

"Don't count on it," my passenger shot that down abruptly.

I just groaned, pulling up at the exit. Check, check right, road clear, deep breath and away. I watched behind for a few seconds, checking to see if anything was following now.

Nope. Nothing but the rain, Starbuck.

"Knight-Leader, Knight-Rider, We are en-route, still no sign of poachers,"

"Understood," Sylia's voice answered, "Can you give an ETA at Tiger's Den?"

"Not now… hard to ride in rain at speed,"

Please don't make me rush, I pleaded mentally.

"The priority is to arrive, not to arrive quickly, speed is at your discretion,"

"Tha- uh- Roger," I said. "Knight-Rider out,"

I cut the channel, switched to the second preset and then repeated the same first message on the decoy channel. It seemed a bit silly to me to be attracting attention, especially since nobody seemed too interested in following anyway, but that was the plan.

If they weren't following us, I was quite happy to let that sleeping giant lie….

But then there was the chance they'd realised we were the decoy, and were homing in on the Silky Wagon. If that happened, they'd make a break for the Hou-Bang ambush, and I'd have to race through the city to get there ahead of them… fuck the ambush, doing anything over 40mph in weather like this would be lethal.

"This is Knight-Guard, en-route to the dropoff, cheetah is comfortable, no sign of poachers." Linna's voice crackled in my ear as another bolt of lightning flashed above.

"Thank Christ," I murmured to myself, feeling the weight lift off my shoulders.

The rain had kept them away.

The same rain which was already running in little rivulets down between the fairing and the tank, pooling in what was once a speaker cutout and generally trying to insinuate itself into every single nook and cranny.

The same rain which kept me from seeing more than 50 yards ahead, through spray and streaming water across the windshield. Riding gear had moved on a bit in 20 years' time, I was warm, dry, and not at all sweaty. It was still bloody lethal out, rainwater steaming and hissing off the engine, the front wheel ploughing a shallow bow-wave through the rainwater running along the road. The front end went light in my hands as it aquaplaned through a puddle, and my heart almost stopped.

Don't crash, I prayed silently, gripping onto the bars for grim death and hoping the machine would just finds its way through each time it happened.

Some poor unfortunate made a dash for their car, their newspaper umbrella having long disintegrated.

1 mile down, 9 more to go. If it wasn't for Noah's flood, this'd be easy.

------

I'd been riding for ten minutes, picking my way through traffic, puddles and the ongoing radio chatter. Almost halfway there, and no sign of anyone following… and I said as much about every two minutes over the radio. Every few minutes, Linna would cut in with the exact same thing.

Hello Missus Quincy, can Mason come out to play…? Oh No No, ladies, his new Boomers might rust in our acid rain… Dawww…

Just when I'd convinced myself that GENOM had stayed at home, Priss' voice hissed in my ear,

"We're being followed."

I glanced around… nothing but the same traffic as a moment ago.

"I don't see it," I said. Nothing that looked like the traditional 'Evil Car'. No black paint, no blacked out windows, nothing like that Lagonda car that'd chased Irene and I. Some kid in a family minivan waved back at me as I filtered passed.

"Three cars back, red Toyota Corolla GT," she said tersely.

I saw the car… it looked ordinary enough. 4 passengers, a slight dent on the front bonnet. Its popup headlights glared back at me, flashing off the mirrors for an instant as it pulled back behind the minivan we'd just past.

"Looks ordinary," I said, returning my attention to the road.

"No," hissed Priss, "It's them. You really have no combat sense do you?"

"Never done thing before," I defended limply,

"Look how it rides on the road," she instructed, "It's wallowing on its springs which means it's heavily loaded, but there's no space for luggage, unless it's full of gold."

I gave a glance back at it, over my shoulder. It did seem loaded, but there were only four people inside, broad shouldered

"Don't look!" Priss barked.

I snapped my gaze back to the road ahead, just in time to avoid running into the back of a slow moving ambulance.

"There's only four people in that car," continued the singer, "The only way that car could be loaded so heavy, is if the passengers were heavier than they should be. There're four combat boomers in that car,"

"Bloody hell," I stuttered out, swallowing a sudden rise of bile.

Priss almost sounded like she was realising it. I glanced down at the bikes instruments…nothing had changed, up at the back of the truck in front…._"North Central Positronics – Moving on with the World_,"….then back at the following car.

I could hear my breathing, quick and heavy, my body charging up to run as fast and far as it could. My wrist tightened itself around the throttle, the big BM responding, slowly building more speed. A green panelled sign for a motorway exit flashed past, lightning flickering across the sky once more. I have to run away, I have to get away somehow. Just squeeze the throttle and go, dive off onto some side road, belt forward through traffic, just run… run… RUN! It implored. Just fucking Run away! it screamed.

Which is _exactly _what they want me to do, a small voice reminded, nearly drowned out by a fight or flight response jammed firmly on 'flight'.

"What do we do?" I asked.

"Keep going, they're not going to shoot at us in public,"

Priss was completely unfazed by it. 4 combat boomers, nothing but a fact of life for the battle scarred woman. I thought about those scars for a moment, and felt my whole body shudder. I could see that car still in my minds eye, lurking back there. I snatched glances in the rain-soaked mirrors, looking for it, trying to watch for it making any sudden runs.

Alright, I have to radio this in… I have to do my job… do my job, do what was discussed. That's my best chance to get through this. Just focus on the task at hand, and don't go to pieces. 5 miles down, 5 to go. Almost halfway there, almost over.

Select Preset 1. Make damn sure it's the right one, because I don't want to give the game away.

"Knight-Leader, Knight-Rider," I tried, my voice shrinking down into the pit of my stomach. I swallowed hard, and took a single, sharp breath. "We have poachers, four to one vehicle,"

"Shit! There's two of 'em!" Priss cut across the channel.

"Two Cars?"

"Yes!"

Fuck Me.

"I understand, continue as planned. The tiger's den is still dark,"

Sylia's voice had softened. She could tell how terrified I was, and she was trying to reassure me. Probably not, but it made me feel ten times better to think she was.

I didn't know if it was the vibrations from the engine, or my own simmering terror that made my limbs go numb.

"Where is it," I asked Priss, even though I didn't want to know.

"GENOM Lowe, black, hugging the crash barrier in the fast lane about 20 yards back," she told me.

And there it was, plain as day. A car for the grim reaper himself, or herself. I could see the driver, and the passengers' outlines through the windows. I recognised the hair immediately, even though there was barely more than a silhouette to go by.

"_Jesus Christ, it's the same one,'_ I whispered. I could see its silver claws bursting through my chest, shining pink blood dripping from the wounds before my body shut down…

"What?"

"Same Boomer that try kill Irene!" I nearly cried

It wasn't beaten by the Knight Sabers, it ran off. And now it was back

"Well, revenge will be sweet."

I could hear Priss grinning as she spoke. I glanced back at her, her eyes aflame with the same burning passion I'd first glimpsed in the dyno room. She didn't _look_ afraid…

"How you do it?" I wondered.

"Do what?"

"Never mind," I shrugged it off, deciding not to pry. Anyway, I had one more radio call to make.

Preset 2, back to the decoy channel. Try to sound calm, try to sound confident.

"Knight-Leader, Knight-Rider. Making good progress, still no sign of poachers,"

"Understood, dropoff point is clear,"

Click back to the main channel, another glance at both death-cars and then back to the task at hand. 4 miles to go. Take the next exit off this expressway, down into the fault, then 2 miles of surface streets. I could see it ahead, glowing almost radioactively, each little raindrop reflecting the lights from below.

There was a good chance I'd die down there… Or it would be more correct to say, it has ceased function. Either way didn't matter a bloody toss, the end result would still be the same.

I wonder if this is how the maggot on the hook feels, staring into the dark abyss of the fish's gullet?

-----

I tried not to look back. I tried to focus on the road ahead, on the route that had been planned out. The bandit cars just lurked behind, making their presence known via the occasional flash of headlights in the mirror, or growl of an engine spooling up to pull ahead of slower traffic. They gnawed like rats at my confidence.

The fault was already dark, streetlights winking into life automatically. Run-off cascaded down from above, through open sewers and falling from broken streets. A lot of businesses were shut, shutters down and sandbags at the door. Millions of gallons a second were draining down from above, and the water was already deep enough to lap at the bike's crankcases and tug at my boots. I crawled through it, not daring to push above 10mph. Drowning the engine and stalling would be deadly for the pair of us.

"It never rains, but it pours," Priss commented.

I chuckled dryly at that.

"It is slowing enemy up too," I said.

Thank goodness for small miracles alright. It must've been the slowest chase in history, crawling along flooded roads at barely a joggers pace, churning up a foaming wake behind which glowed red under the taillight. The nauseating smell of sewerage crept into my helmet, assaulting my nostrils even after I'd snapped the visor shut. It was hilarious, when I thought about it, each time I took a turn I expected one of the cars to rev up and try to ram us, but of course they couldn't, any faster and they'd suck floodwater into their engines.

It made riding a bloody nightmare, but it also kept us safe, and it gave me something to concentrate on other than the hundreds of horrible ways I could die. I just focused on the grim pool of light cast by the bikes headlight on the surging effluent. A doll drifted past, pulled by some unseen current.

"Knight-Rider, Knight Leader, can you give E.T.A?"

"Knight-Leader, maybe 5 minutes, this is slow going," I answered,

About a mile out, I guessed.

"Tiger's Den is still dark, and is dry," the Sabers leader told me.

I wasn't sure if that was a good thing, or not.

"The flooding is slowing down the poachers too," jumped Priss in, "Their cars are having the same trouble we are. I don't know why they haven't abandoned their vehicles yet, they could run us down on foot in a heartbeat in this,"

"Don't jinx," I jibed, suddenly feeling the full force of my fears roll back in.

"Shit," Priss swore, "Arrogant bastards. I bet they're just waiting for us to make a mistake. If we go down, they pounce on us like hyenas on a dying Zebra."

Horrible mental image

"_For fuck's sake stop that_!" I spat back, "_I'm scared enough as it fucking is,"_

Silence…. Oh shit.

"Knight-Rider," Sylia's cool voice anchored my thoughts, "This is no time for profanity. The Tigers' assessment is correct. Take your time, keep your head, and focus on your task,"

I could hear giggling from behind me.

"I understand," I responded, cowed by shame.

"In other words, just get on with it," Priss put it a little better, "And don't worry about things you have no control over,"

We came to a dry patch, relatively, and could pick up a little speed again. Not a lot, but enough. It gave the assassins a chance to ram, but they held back, content to taunt us with their presence, looming in convoy about twenty yards behind. They matched my speed exactly, slowing when I pulled up, then accelerating to match when I pushed forward…. They could kill me any time they wanted, but they didn't… they just let me keep going. Why? Why don't they just do it and get it over with?

Don't think about things I have no control over?

Easier said than done.

Raindrops glittered as they fell through streetlamp halos, looking like little shards of glass dropping from the sky. 19:35:23 and it was already dark as midnight down here. One last left turn, I knew it would be the last, and my heart jumped to the back of my throat. I came face to face with the building that might well become my tomb, squatting in ominous darkness straight ahead, maybe 200 yards away. The lights were off alright. Tiger's Den was still dark.

"Accelerate, Accelerate!" Priss urged, and I didn't argue, "Put some distance between us so we can get off without getting run over."

The bike squirmed and squalled in protest as I wrung the throttle hard open. This was it… this was it… I gave three sharp blasts from the bike's horn, echoing down the canyon streets. The engine roared between my legs, wind howling over my helmet, rainwater plashing up against the bikes structure.

I stopped being afraid. I wasn't calm either. I slipped out of both. I had a clear, concise idea of what I had to do, and I knew exactly how to do it. I glanced quickly up at some of the building rising on either side, looking for signs of any weapons, any gunfire.

There was none.

The bandit cars were accelerating hard behind, but even a half-century old motorbike could leave them for dead. My whole body was rigid, taut with tension, my breathing sharp, quick and heavy. My blood burned with energy enough to move a planet, it felt like. I was ready to snap, I was ready to bolt, I wasn't ready to do this but I didn't have a choice in the matter, did I?

Three more blasts from the bike's horn, almost mournful in the concrete canyon.

"Knight-Rider, we see you," came the reply. Terse, but just what I wanted to hear.

I didn't feel safe, not by a long shot, but I did feel protected. Now then, all I had to do was time this right. I stopped breathing. I stopped thinking. I covered the brake lever with my hand, waiting for just the right moment.

The speeding bike splashed through another puddle, rainwater exploding in a glittering rainbow fountain. The machine slid terrifyingly under me, but sheer momentum kept the whole lot travelling in the one direction.

Brake… stop…run.

The safehouse building was rushing forward to meet me, all five stories of it formed from black-stained concrete. It looked derelict, unlived in for years, the door hanging open as if the last person out had forgotten to lock it.

I waited for for a fraction of a heartbeat more, and just grabbed as hard as I could, stamping down on the back-brake so hard I was sure I'd bent the lever. The ABS cut in immediately pulsing in my hand.

The machine slewed sideways at a heartstopping angle, Priss suddenly finding herself fighting to hold on. The brakes squealed, tyres howling across the road as they were held on the point of locking up. The safehouse rose up, still closing rapidly…. Too Rapidly!

"ToofastToofastToofastToofast!" I yelped out,

No again! I'm not going to crash again. I screwed my eyes shut, expecting the final, crushing pain of flesh/concrete impact. I could hear both chasing cars charging up behind, not bothering to even slow down. If we didn't hit the wall, they'd ram us, and smash the pair of us into it. I could feel Priss tense behind, the blue Knight Saber ready to make a jump for it, just in case.

Then, silence, more or less…the bike stopped and stalled, leaving nothing but the rain, and the roar of rapidly closing engines.

Sidestand down, ignition off, and I released a breath I'd forgotten I was holding.

"Run dammit," shouted Priss, already halfway to the door. "Unless you want to die again!"

Fuck no…

The bike dropped onto its stand and I jumped off, nearly tumbling to the footpath as my foot caught on the saddle, and dragged the machine clear over onto its side with a metallic crash. I winced… that sounded expensive, but I didn't dare look back.

"Just hurry up!" pleaded Priss, already halfway through the door.

I steadied myself on my legs, boots struggling to grip wet pavement. I chased after her, already panting hard. I could hear the V8 roar of the approaching car, bearing straight down on me. They weren't going to brake… my shadow lengthened rapidly, the pool of yellow light cast by the charging GENOM Lowe's headlights swallowing me whole. I stumbled through the doorway, scant moments before the car followed me, smashing through the doorframe and wall, punching shattered bits of concrete, wood and steel into the building's lobby.

I landed flat on my face, cracking my visor on the hard edge of a staircase. Something heavy bounced painfully off my back and I rolled over on top of it, jamming whatever it might've been into my shoulder.

Scant inches from my booted foot was the smashed front bumper of the Lowe; it had wedged itself inside the smashed doorway, doors pinned shut. The engine was dead, the bonnet scratched and crumpled, the windshield cracked and shattered. Steam hissed out from around a piece of twisted steel frame wedged in the radiator. I breathed a sigh, liquid relief cooling my veins, as I snapped my broken visor off.

Outside, the rain redoubled its efforts to flood the world, pelting hard against tarmac, concrete and steel. I heard the other car skid to a halt, before crashing hard into _something_…I prayed it wasn't my bike.

I saw something move inside the Lowe, the wrecked vehicle rocking on its suspension as something inside fought to free itself. A single, feminine fist punched through the windshield, scattering splinters of glass. Its fingers stretched, nails shining monstrously, pink blood running free from dozens of little cuts….

"Bloody hell," I muttered,

"This is no time to sleep!" Priss' urgent voice snapped me out of it.

I looked back up the stairs, the Knight Saber standing at the top of the staircase, waiting for me, but ready to save her own ass if it came to that. Well, I didn't need to be told to save my neck twice.

"Bloody Hell!" I repeated, scrambling to my feet, glass shards and concrete dust giving way under my weight. A sudden, sickly orange flash lighted the inside of the building for an instant… funny lightning, I thought,… until the hand of God slammed me too the floor a second time, The air rushed out of the building, being sucked clear out of my lungs, shattering each and every window, it held there for a second, waiting while my insides burned in agony, before rushing back in again with the force of a runaway freight train, filling the air with flying shards of glass, concrete and steel. It was a kick to the stomach, a punch right to the core of my being, and for a few moments, I wondered what it could have been.

A quick glance over my shoulder and over the concrete-dust grey roof of the wrecked GENOM car told me the second chasing car, the red Toyota, had ceased to be. All that was left was a burning wreck billowing acrid grey smoke. And that hard rain I'd heard was a rain of lead.

I didn't waste another second, picking myself up, and scrabbling desperately to the top of the staircase to meet Priss. The pair of us were like ghosts, grey and pale with concrete dust and dirt, clinging to our wet clothes. She coughed a mix of spit and ash into her hand.

"Upstairs, apartment 204," she said between coughs.

"I know," I winced as something bit deep inside my shoulder… not broken, but definitely something not right. It felt more like a trapped nerve than anything. The dust tickled at my throat, sucking moisture out if my body. I coughed hard, hacking some muddy mix up from deep inside my chest. Warnings flashed through my mind about airborne toxins and bloodstream contamination, but I ignored them.

"They may have blown the other car up, but that won't stop whatever's out there, they'll just scorch them damn things up a little,"

She grunted with the effort of hauling herself up the stairs, I guessed she was hurt more than she seemed. My body was burning hot, energy charging through my veins. It was the same as on that stage… hot, sick, tired and terrified. The pair of us practically fell through the door into a surprisingly clean apartment, considering how musty the rest of the building was.

On instinct, I kicked the door hard shut behind. It was heavy enough to near crack my ankle.

Outside, there was a battle in full swing. I was awestruck for a second, fusillades of fire raining down into the streets, answered occasionally by stabbing purple beams of light, hissing flickering through the rain. I saw a man blown through a window, burning as he fell to the ground. He screamed a wordless scream.

I didn't see him land.

A white streak darted, from point to point, dodging probing laser and gunfire attacks. It rose up on a brilliant blue flame, dodging one attack, before dropping down for a second pass.

"Cover me for a minute," Priss ordered, "They'll come up the stairs after us. When they break through, give them everything you've got."

I nodded dumbly, taking my helmet off as I did so. There was a gun, two magazines of ammunition and a pair of little green pear shaped objects waiting on a coffee table in front of an old leather couch. It chilled me to think they were real. They still looked like toys.

"Good Luck," I said…

"I'm not the one who'll need it," Priss answered back.

She left me alone in the room, disappearing into the saferoom where her hardsuit was kept. My senses withdrew into the room itself, excluding the battle outside. My world was those four walls, green paint peeling a little, a single wood-box TV in one corner, a coffee table with my helmet on it, a sofa big enough to hide behind, a gun, and two surprisingly heavy grenades.

And one closed, fireproof door.

A brainwave struck me. If I'd known better, if I'd known just how powerful a grenade was, or just how stupid setting one off inside a confined space was, I'd never have done it. But my experience with weapons was Counter Strike and Die Hard…. And Speed 2.

That's where I got the idea. A really stupid idea.

I pulled the pin out of the grenade… believing I could just put it back in again if this didn't work. I knew well enough to hold the handle down to stop it going off right away. The door handle was steel, tarnished a little, but there was enough space between it and the door for me to jam the grenade in, bashing it up from the bottom until it was stuck so tight not even God could've moved it.

The idea being that if one of those boomers followed us up, it'd open the door, the Grenade would drop, and she'd get a nasty surprise right at her feet, while I hid safely behind the couch, protected from any explosion or shrapnel.

I smirked savagely… yes, this would work. A delicious trap.

I hid behind the couch, crouching down low on my ankles. I could hear them coming up the stairs, floorboards creaking under their weight. My body was shivering… this was thrilling, this was exciting… I'd get the drop on them…. I had my trap. I was in control. Priss was still changing; I heard something metallic hit the floor in there. What was that?

And then, one was at the door.

I knew nothing except the sound of high-heeled feet, slowly approaching, testing the handle. A bolt of pure excitement ran through me, expecting the sudden bang of detonation. I clutched my gun close to my chest, finger gently resting against the trigger… despite being told not to do that… it was comforting.

The handle rattled, another explosion outside whipping up dust and glass shards. I braced for the blast, huddling up into myself. I just hoped it'd go off.

The door was kicked open, with a sharp crack, splintered wood from the frame sent flinging through the room. I heard something pop, maybe the grenade hitting the floor, maybe not, followed by a hard, hollow bang, and I guessed the door bounced open against the wall.

With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I realised the grenade was a dud.

"All clear," a woman's voice said, with inhuman calm. Flat, controlled, deadly.

It doesn't know I'm here.

I froze solid, my body locking tight. Seconds stretched into hours. I could hear the boomer breathing, a biomimetic type probably. Where's Priss? Why isn't she ready yet? Only a few seconds, that's how long I had before it found me… I couldn't take that on… not hand to hand anyway…. Fuck me what do I do, where's Priss?

Still getting ready.

"Come up," the boomer said, another pair of bare feet approaching.

I gripped the gun tight, holding my breath, crouched down. If it gets in, it'll find me. Only a few seconds. If it has anything like my senses, it already knows somebody *was* here recently. I could definitely sense it… a cold void of malice and murder. Where the fuck was Priss? What was taking her so long?

There's no way she could get out the door, not in time to save my neck from a gruesome death.

Shoot it! Part of my mind begged. Just shoot the bitch! Fuck me that sounds like a plan. Shoot until it falls over or runs away. When? Before it bloody well finds me! If I can surprise the bastard, I'll get her bang to rights….

Right…

Go!

My body didn't move.

Go goddammnit!

Nothing but a twitch.

I winced. Maybe four seconds since the boomer kicked in the door, not even that before it found me. I heard it take a step inside, moving closer. I swallowed bile… again, gritted my teeth… thought of something to say… forgot what it was… then went for it.

"Hey!" I shrieked as I jumped to my feet, not really able to come up with anything more dramatic. The assault rifle came to my shoulder, as practiced, and I stared at the boomer for a fraction of a second.

She was that same one… with the same blonde perm, the same sinister eyes and an evil, lupine grin. She wore nothing but a blue bodysuit, her bare arms and feet bloodied and coated with a fine layer of grey powder. She fixed me with her malevolent gaze, almost glad to be facing some resistance. Ghost-grey eyes sparked with inhuman life.

I shrunk back for a second, my whole body filled with the purest form of despairing dread. So she could control her pheromones too…

5 seconds since the door opened, and I squeezed the trigger. I felt the gun's mechanisms latch, a distinct and separate instant before the first round fired with a sharp slap, like somebody whacking a stick against my eardrums, followed by that distinct metallic ring.

Then another…then another… full auto fire, finger jammed hard down on the trigger. Give the bitch all sixty rounds. I'll get you, you won't get me. Fuck all that stuff about single shots and controlled aggression, HAVE SOME OF THIS SHIT!

I watched her body jerk, bullets peppering her figure, and the wall surrounding her. Pink PFC-blood mingled with plasterboard and concrete dust. How long would it take for her to actually drop?

4 shots… 5.... 6…7…8… 9….10, I could count them out.

6 seconds since the door opened. She whipped around, fingernails sparking as she dropped her hand. I saw those savage nails hanging for the briefest of seconds in midair. Instinct took over and I stopped shooting, trying vainly to dodge to the right and dive out of the way.

Something bit me on my left breast, a little like a horsefly bite, but deeper, followed by another in the shoulder. Another hit the wall behind me with a crack, with two more following it fractions of an instant later.

I had enough time to wonder if that was it, before every single synapse in my body exploded in electric agony, current flashing through my veins. I screamed hard, my whole body dropping limply to the ground, driving the nails in deeper. Alarms announced themselves in my mind for the briefest of moments, before my systems went dead, overloaded, they'd shut down to save themselves.

With dawning horror, I realised my organics systems were left to freewheel on their own. My heart stopped, breathing too… there was no signal to regulate them… my body shivered and spasmed as the brain tried to take control, as I tried to make sense of what just happened.

"Enemy cyberdroid neutralised. Proceed to target," I heard. Impassive.

I mewled around on the floor, struggling to control myself. Nothing did what it was supposed to. That wasn't fair! I could hear it moving again, stepping into the room… coming towards me… ready to deliver the final blow.

Not that I'd need it, I had about a minute before my whole body began to shut down for the last time.

This isn't fair… I wasn't supposed to die like this… I don't want to die… why did I want to do this?....I want to go home.

I managed to roll onto my back, pressing against the back of the couch.

"I want to go home," I whimpered… "I want…" Ten seconds after the door opened, the grenade decided to martyr itself.

I didn't hear the blast, I felt it. It dropped on my chest like a great fat elephant, blowing the air out of my lungs, and popping my eardrums with a roar like somebody'd brought in a thousand jet engines and set them to full throttle inside my head. The whole world went a burning orange for an instant, hot and searing, before it faded a deathly grey.

The elephant on my chest bounced off, cracking ribs, bolts of pain arcing around my chest and through my stomach.

And then, the world went still again, except for a high pitched death-scream in my ears, and the shock of something heavy landing a few feet above my head, far enough to be out of my field of vision,

"Fuck me," I mouthed, unable to breath.

At least I knew I wasn't dead, I hurt too bad to be dead.

I was lying on my back, frozen…staring at a ragged, dirty ceiling. A few small slabs of plaster dropped, loosened by the blast. I could see the bloody end of on off the nails, standing proud and painful in my breast.

I wanted desperately to pull it out, but couldn't move my arm. No strength, no power, no control, not even enough to flex my fingers.

No fear…. Just strangely calm.

Something starting ticking inside my head.

19:39:23

I could feel my body restarting, power starting to flow, cybernetic systems which had shut down rebooting themselves. Each one announced itself in wonderful sequence, heart, lungs, liver, power regulators, flow controllers, interface linkages.

A punch to the chest and my heart started again.

Blood was flowing through my veins, power to my systems. I felt giddy, I felt elation… I felt as if I was riding on a cloud of energy, my body bootstrapping itself back up.

My lungs followed, drawing in a deep, ragged breath. Agony seared my chest, ribs cracking and grinding against each other. Somebody was sitting on me, that's what It felt like, and they gained weight with each breath.

I could taste blood… my blood… I could feel it gurgling up the back of my throat.

I tried to roll over, but I just yelped in pain as a hundred new agonies announced themselves. The nails burned through my body, one scratching against bone.

Even before I looked at my own self-generated damage report, I knew I was in trouble.

But I wasn't going to die.

Where was the boomer?

I craned my head over, ignoring the pain as best I could, desperate to know.

It was lying face down, with an expression of pure surprise frozen on her features. The eyes were wide and empty of whatever malevolent life had fired them, the mouth agape and leaking blood. Splinters of scorched wood stood proud and tall from the cyber-assassins back, at least half a dozen, some larger than my forearm. Sparks sprouted fitfully from one that seemed to have gone through her spine, and into her power regulators.

I cackled, a hacking, pained, dry cackle.

I got her… thank Christ I got her. I was bleeding out my shoulder, I'd broken ribs, and something wasn't right inside … but I got her first.

Another pained grunt, each breath firing sparks of agony from my chest as the nail-needles dug themselves in deeper. My ears were still screaming, energy draining from my body. I felt something hot and liquid flowing across my chest.

I didn't hear the door behind me open, a shadow, sleek, elegant and feminine fell over me. I looked up, praying it wasn't some second boomer ready to finish the job, and smiled.

Priss was in her hardsuit, standing over me, like a guardian angel encased in blue steel. Oh wow…

"Holy shit," I heard… at least, I think that's what it was. Her voice was tinny, transistorised and distant. She offered her gloved hand to help me up, and I looked at it, not sure if I could even stand for a second.

"I blew her up," I coughed up, my voice painfully loud.

The hardsuit looked down at the wreck, then in the direction of where the door used to be.

"I can see that," said the hardsuit. I swore to myself she was laughing as she said that. What was so funny? "And half the damn building with it! And Sylia thinks _I_ cause too much collateral damage."

I tried to laugh, but I just whimpered in pain as the needles dug in deeper. I took her hand, black fabric glove warm to the touch and strangely welcoming, and she pulled me effortlessly to my feet. Pains darted through my chest, and I slumped against the wall, panting heavily, tears in my eyes.

I got my first good look at the damage, and realised just how much of a moron I'd been to set a grenade off indoors. The television in the corner was gone; only a shattered plastic casing remained. The door was gone; most of it was stuck in pieces in the back of the combat boomer at my feet. Most of the far wall was gone; it had only been lightweight gypsum on a wooden frame. The floor was sagging, and the ceiling above had already dropped, burying another vaguely anthropomorphic form in a pile of plaster and concrete. It wasn't moving either.

"_I'll be damned,"_ I breathed out weakly. I got two. Fortune favours the stupid it seems. The grenade got stuck between the door and the wall, and blew both ways…. Delicious dumb luck… I couldn't've done it on purpose!

Pain, exhaustion pulled me towards the floor, trying to pull me down into unconsciousness. I wobbled on my feet for a second, wishing I had something better for a prop than a steel doorframe. Strength was draining from my body, trickling down the ends of the nails.

"There's a first-aid kid inside," said the hardsuit, "Now sit back and watch how it's _really_ done,"

Priss bulleted through the broken window, thrusters flaring blue as she jumped. I felt the concussion of the exhaust resonate through my frame for a second, quickly followed by a second explosion outside.

Clinging for dear life to the doorframe, I tried desperately to push myself level. I was starving hungry, thirsty as a desert and physically exhausted. I was chilled hot… somehow… sweating but still shivering. A new set of explosions kicked up outside, shaking the buildings frame. Some more of the ceiling caved in, but I ignored it… I had bigger problems.

I was bleeding, maybe not quite to death, but enough to cause problems, and every breath sent liquid fire through my chest. I hauled myself into the saferoom, barely finding the strength to pull the door shut behind me. I knew I wasn't going to die.. the bleeding would stop eventually, and my repair systems were already kicking in… but I felt like I'd picked a fight with a train and lost.

There was a cot bed in the room, Priss' leathers, a rack to hold the hardsuit, and a simple first aid kit. No windows, just clean, painted concrete. Coughing brutally, spitting muddy gobbets of blood and concrete, I picked up the first aid kit, and dropped into the cot.

I yelped in pain, feeling my vision swim, unconsciousness reaching up to claim me. Something blew up outside… maybe another boomer, maybe another building… I had other problems…

I had to figure out how to get my jacket off, with several inches of bloody ceramic sticking out of my chest. Okay…. I had to get the nails out first…. Deep breath… Ow!.... just be calm… take a firm grip….Jesus Christ this hurts… 1…2…Oh God please don't make this painful….3… Pull!

Mason himself in the Tower probably heard me scream.

And it still fucking hurt to breath! Why couldn't that fat man get off my chest? My ears were still ringing, and I still had one nail in my shoulder. Jesus Christ I'll never take the piss out of the crucifixion again…

The fighting outside sounded like it had stopped, not even five minutes after we'd arrived. Mission complete. Relax… take another deep breath…One more pull…

This won't hurt a bit…..

-----

"Well," said Sylia, placing her helmet on the table beside the others. "Irene is on her flight to Hong Kong. The money is on the way to our accounts, and the boomers have been destroyed,"

Even drenched in sweat with hair like a drowned rat, with her almost pearlescent armour scoured, scorched and scratched, she still managed to project that calm, businesswoman aura.

The only aura I could project was one of pain… a torturous mixture of deep, throbbing, pulsing agony throughout my body, and sharp, biting pains in my chest and shoulder. The bleeding had stopped, but I still couldn't breath right.

"Except for the damage to the building," she raised an eyebrow at me and I shrunk back. "All in all a successful mission," Sylia summed up. "Good work everyone,"

Nené cheered in her pristine hardsuit, the AD Police officer still fresh and dry.

"That's easy for you to say," Shot Priss, staring down into her own helmet, before fixing her with a teasing grin, "You weren't the one who nearly got her head punched off by a burning boomer,"

There was a sizeable dent in the armour's temple where something had punched it, _hard._

"Or nearly evis… Evas…stabbed." I muttered lamely.

"Well, I had to maintain our cover," Nené defended with a pout, placing her armoured hands, on her armoured hips with a crack. "And hide the Hou-Bang… they had no idea about radio discipline… professionals my butt!"

Priss sat back against the far wall, placing her helmet in her lap. The way she was staring into it, you'd swear it held the entire universe.

"Mackie will be here with the truck in about a half-hour," said Sylia, busying herself within a radio headset, "Linna will be with him. We will head back to base, and call it a night,"

"I call shower first!" chirped Nené, raising her hand,

"Oh come one, you didn't even break a sweat, little miss cheerleader," Priss bit back, fixing her.

"I'll have you know, that computer system gets very hot!" defended Nené, her face reddening, "At least I'm not some Ape-woman who blows half a building up trying to take out just two boomers,"

I went red… giggling quietly into my fist.

"That wasn't even me, the ghost in the shell here," pointing at me. I scowled, hating that term. "Decided she wanted to set some fireworks off while she was in the same room,"

"Oh…" Nené stopped dead

"I did not want be stabbed," I frowned, still feeling a few pangs of anger, "And Priss took long time to get dressed,"

"I'd like to see how fast you can strip and board a hardsuit, eh, Deckard?"

Those red eyes stared through me, and I whimpered, not daring to challenge them. That tsunami of discomfort reared up behind her for a second.

"I don't think a blast like that will be something she'd be keen to repeat," Sylia edged in, "At least outside of a hardsuit anyway,"

I grasped the implications, but was much too tired to get excited

"Does this mean?" gasped the hacker.

"Meg has agreed to join us," confirmed the Sabers' leader.

"Congratulations Meg!" Nené bubbled, jumping in her hardsuit before she gave me a thumbs up.

"Thanks," I answered, giving her a weak smile.

"Welcome to the club,"

I giggled nervously, praying she didn't try hug me, and accidentally crush my body in her arms

Priss glanced up at Sylia for a moment, surprised, before her whole body relaxed into thought. I tried to read her for a moment, and got back nothing but that same discomfort… not quite distrust, but definitely discomfort… She took a deep breath, the chest of her armour rising and falling.

"Congratulations," she said flatly, her eyes dropping to the depths of her helmet once more. She swallowed something, closing her eyes for a second before opening them again.

I wondered just what the hell was bothering her, but decided not to push it. I really was to bloody tired to be worried about it, and the last thing I wanted to do was fall asleep.

I was a Knight Saber.

Get me something to eat first before I run out of power, then maybe I'll celebrate.

-----

A Third Chapter. Doubles the length of the Fic, or thereabouts. Sorry about that

1: I am reliably informed that Meg should've been killed outright by the grenade blast. I know this, but I'm not going to let a little thing like reality get in the way of a good plot. It's based on an anime anyway…

2: Next chapter might well be as long as this one… Tet will be back… an artifact from the Dark Tower books may appear. I'm not sure yet. It'll be a while before I update though… goddamn this one was hard to do.

3: First person perspective is a bitch sometimes… as much as I wanted to show the fight outside, better to stick to Meg's own viewpoint… Sorry. But there's no more irritating thing, than a story that jumps VP's

4: Anything to say, you know how to contact me.

-Dartz


	4. Chapter 4

_Yours Truly, 2032_

Yet another BubbleGum Crisis SI, in the traditional form  
Bubblegum Crisis... (c) Artmic/Youmix.  
I'm just borrowing this for a while, for some Fair Deal fun...Mmmkay?

This is the first part of what is going to be a much larger Chapter 4. This part is at least 100 pages. There's another 30 on top of this also finished, but that won't be ready for some time yet. I decided to post it, because 100 pages is really the limit for what people will want to read.

Another thing. Despite the attentions of one obvious troll, I'll not be turning off Anonymous reviews.

4: Thunder Rising

Meg gets her hardsuit, and Mason makes his first move. Will she ever get to use it?

------

It was a Tuesday morning like any other. I'd slept fine... no nightmares about boomer claws ripping through my chest or anything... thank God for that.

How surreal.

My apartment was the same as I'd left it on Monday. The television chattered about some German made drilling machine excavating a new underground city, and the air-conditioning was still completely and totally FUBAR'd. There were no scars on my body, not even a red mark on my breast where the nail had gone in. The only proof I had of last night's activities was a dull ache in my chest, my shoulder was a little stiff, and a slight lethargy as my body struggled to replace the blood it had lost. Nothing I couldn't live with, it'd be gone by evening anyway. My ribs were healing up happily, and that punctured lung had long since fixed itself. Standing in front of a mirror, I poked at my breast, trying to find any evidence at all that the needle had been there.

The original shot felt like I'd been hit by a supercharged taser, and then some. But now, there was no sign of it. Poking myself gently in the chest tickled just as much on Tuesday morning, as it did on any other morning. It was only then that I realised just how close that needle had come to hitting my heart... another inch maybe, or a different angle, and it would've cut right through it. Chillingly, I realised I'd've bled out in minutes.

The thought followed me through my daily routine...

I went to work, taking the same train as always. Life carried on... the only proof I had of what I'd actually done was inside my own head. As the pains in my body began to simmer down, the Knight Sabers, Irene, the motorcycle, the whole weekend seemed as if it was nothing more than a dream. I didn't feel like I'd really done any of the things I'd remembered doing.

Even though I'd almost been killed.

I got into work early, planning on making up for lost time over the weekend. I was short on cash, to put it mildly. Might have to get creative with how I get my food this week... At least rent was covered.

"Deckard!" the voice of Kentaro Nakamura rang through the club, "You're early."

He was down at the stage, fixing something with one of the cyberdroids. Tonight's act, _Sekiria_.

"Making time up!" I called down, leaning against the railings. They creaked ominously.

"Well then, I hope you had a relaxing weekend, because we got to get some stuff up down here, and we have to get it up before the bar opens."

"Shit," I swore to myself, flexing my shoulder. It still hurt, and it didn't look like it was going to get any better anytime soon.

The day wore on, the routines of working life ticking-over, the same as they usually did. The band was good, a bit too mid-nineties, but all right. People came, people went... there was one who was a total arsehole, and quickly lost the ability to hold his drink. Thud, he went, slumping at the bar. That'd teach the bugger for grabbing a feel.

I got home at 03:01:11

Same as always.

Body all healed up.

And that was it. The only evidence I'd ever done anything but go to work over the weekend was gone. I couldn't really believe I'd actually done something like that. The hardsuits, the hospital, the ride through the city, gunning down the boomer, the grenade... even nearly getting killed by that boomer... I really didn't feel like I'd done any of that. It just didn't seem possible. I had to go to Raven's on Sunday...

Or did I?

It was so weird. Like watching a TV show in my head, over and over again.

------

"He was such a creep!" Linna spat bitterly, " I mean, sure I had to break three dates, but I had _good_ reasons, he still shouldn't have broken up with me. Why can't he understand that I have to do things outside of our relationship?

"They never do," I comforted, nudging a glass of red wine into her hands.

It was a better option than asking her how she would've felt if he'd stood her up three times in a row. The bar was quiet, boomers were changing the decorations for tonight's act, _The Replicants _were playing again.

"It's not like I didn't have a good reason," she continued, "Even if it wasn't a reason I could tell him about, the least he could do was trust me. I mean, that's what you're supposed to do in a relationship, isn't it? Trust each other?"

I nodded.

"I am immune to love," I grinned back, "Cybernetics relieve sex drive."

Technically not true, I'd only switched it off. It'd be a cold day in hell before I switched it back on again.

"Don't tease," she grumbled, "This is serious!" There were tears in her eyes. I'll bet.

"I mean... sorry... " what did I mean, "I never have boyfriend in life." I had a girlfriend, but that was a different life, "I never really want one. I don't know," I shrugged.

She took a long deep breath, before swallowing a mouthful from her glass.

"Sometimes, I hate being a Knight Saber, it gets in the way of life so much. It really is a pain in the ass. Every night I plan something, _every_ night, somebody decides to send a boomer on a rampage."

"I doubt they do it on purpose," I deflected.

"I know," she snarled, before catching herself, "But... um... it's still so frustrating."

Steer her away from the topic of her boyfriend, that was the plan.

"So why join KS in the place first?" I questioned, offering more wine out of my own pocket.

"No, I'll pay," Linna waved it off, placing a couple of hundred on the table. "Money's tight for you, isn't it?"

I nodded. I completely forgot I had a 1.2 million yen sitting in a number-only bank account somewhere in Zurich. The dancer just sighed, clutching the glass in both hands. She stared into her reflection for a moment, before drawing a deep breath.

"That's why I joined the club," club being a nice euphemism for the Sabers, "I wasn't making money as a dancer, and the landlord was at the door. This audition came up for a part, and I could've either gone for it, or gone to my day job. Thing was, if I didn't get the part, I wouldn't be able to make the rent. But if I got the part, I'd have no problems for the rest of the year, so I went for it."

She took another sip, while I gave a cursory glance to be sure there were no customers around.

"Anyway, I danced my ass off, hitting each and every mark they wanted, I was the best there was, but they still said no. They just didn't want me," she shrugged, "I was annoyed of course, because that meant I was out on my ear, no job, no home... and then.. guess who appeared?"

"Sylia?"

She nodded. Obviously. "She offered me a one-time job, saying she was impressed with my dancing skills, and that she might have a position that would put them to good use. She offered me a million yen, how could I say no?"

"This sounds familiar," I commented with a rueful grin.

"It's how she does it," giggled Linna, alcohol heating her features, "I did the job, and she paid me well, and I was quite happy with it, I could live comfortably for the next six months while I figured out what to do. Until she decided to offer me another, permanent job. She told me what we did, and why... and I found that I wanted to do it, so I agreed."

"So she not only me she did to?" I wondered aloud.

Linna laughed, "It's how she recruits. Nené told me she got her the same way. I don't know how she recruited Priss though, she never told anyone, and Sylia just said it's Priss' story to tell."

"Priss complicated," I agreed, "I still not know how she feel about me," It was hard to put into words in English, let alone Japanese, "It not she do not like me... more... very uncomfortable."

"It's her way with new people," Linna repeated what I'd been told before, "She was like that with me too. Priss doesn't trust easily, but when she does, she'll never let go of you. She's really quite sweet once you get to know her. Sometimes, we have dinner together."

I quirked a curious eyebrow.

"Not like that!" she batted my thoughts way. And if I'd actually turned on my sexuality I'd've found something alluring to it, as it was, the thought of Priss and Linna in bed together was only mildly interesting, in a factual manner. "Sometimes it's just more convenient, especially if she's short on money." she paused. "Priss is a mystery though, the club was originally just her and Sylia, Nené didn't join until 6 months after Priss, and me a few months later."

"At least I not alone."

"Back to me now," Linna took another sip, the found her glass was empty. "I started in the club, because the money was good, it let me pursue my dreams, while keeping a roof over my head, but then after a few missions, I saw how much good we were actually doing for the people in the city, and I actually started to enjoy it, and how close we were all getting."

I suddenly felt achingly lonely, and desperate to hide it.

"So," Linna leaned forward on her steepled hands, her features forming into a chilling gaze that reminded me of Gendou Ikari, "Now that I've told you why I joined, maybe you can tell me how Sylia convinced you?"

I started back, feeling a slightly embarrassed flush heat my cheeks. My reason... well.. it seemed a bit stupid, come to think of it. Money was a fine good... but because I got hot for the hardware? Okay, so it wasn't _that_ extreme, but something about having my own hardsuit certainly made me feel giddy. I glanced around, seeing the old newspaper man shuffling his way to the bar... he just saved my blushes.

"I have to deal with customer first," I grinned. Linna narrowed her eyes suspiciously at me.

It was nothing more than a delaying tactic... but it gave me some time. Double Suntory, ice and peanuts... 800 yen... thank you sir and enjoy. That Brumm-Baer is really something. Not interested... damn. And Linna was scowling bloody daggers at me for making the attempt. I'm not going to get away with this, am I?

"Sorry," I apologised a little sheepishly, "But it is embarrassing."

"Really?" she leaned forward. Embarrassing stories were always the best.

"Sylia offered money," I said, "I wanted go home, and she offer more than enough money. But, I making money, so money not so important for me. I want to stay safe.." how can I put it, "Afraid of death. I did first mission anyway, money too good. Em... Sylia decided to show me club equipment."

I leaned forward, Linna's strawberry perfume tingling my nostrils and whispered.

"I wanted my own hardsuit."

Linna started back, stunned, the expression on her face a sort of 'Is that all?' She was almost disappointed.

"Really, I thought it might have something to do with what you were before you got your prosthethics," she needled, her eyes devilishly narrow.

I shrugged, "No secret."

"Damn."

We giggled.

"Hardsuits are really awesome, I still remember the first time I tried mine, it was so tight and light, it was like wearing tights over my whole body."

"I never wear tights," I stated.

Except for fishnet stockings once, the week before, on stage.

Linna pouted, "You have to embrace your body. There are women out there who would murder for a figure you've been given off the shelf, you know?" she wagged her finger at me. "I had to work for years to hone my body to the athletic perfection you see here."

I see.

"It not all roses, I have problem with being machine too."

"Oh?"

"Well," I stood up, taking the haughty position on this, "I starve after 4 days no food. I need metal in my food. " I gathered momentum on this one, "no drunk, I am un-person according to law. Boomer syndrome, no family, no home."

"I see," Linna stopped dead, while I jammed on the brakes, stunned for a second.

I shivered gently for a moment, mild guilt warring with almost antarctic loneliness. It stung deep for a moment, and I backed up, against the register at the back of the bar.

"You need a boyfriend," she suggested sagely.

"I not interested in sex," I stated firmly, crossing my arms across my chest.

"Sex doesn't have to come into it," she explained, "Even just _being_ with another person is enough. Everyone needs companionship, Meg, even if he's just someone with a shoulder to rest your head on, it's nice to have somebody there. Somebody who listens to you, who trusts you, and makes you feel wanted."

I felt like I was the only person in the world, in the middle of the most densely populated city on the planet.

"Getting _somebody_ should be simple enough, with a body like yours you could have _anybody _out."

"But, they only want my body, not me," I said. "All everybody sees is this," I pointed to my chest, "And not just men either by the way. That's what they want, not me."

I screwed my eyes shut, shaking my head to clear some seeping tears.

"It just takes time for people to get to know you. Bait with good looks, reel them in with a winning personality. Or go ask someone _you're _interested in out, rather than waiting for them. That way, you can choose a man for his personality, and not his looks."

"I still don't want to," I said, my voice small.

Being a 33-S would not make for a stable relationship, male or female.

"Your choice," shrugged the dancer, taking another sip from her glass, "Anyway, just who would be your ideal man?"

"I never thought about it."

"Well now's the time" she smirked.

I didn't want to think about it. Quick, just make something up... anything.

"Just someone who like me, not my body... " I paused, and added one more caveat, "... who isn't ugly."

"Good luck," she snorted, "That's what every woman wants, so join the queue."

I chuckled lightly, then had a spark of inspiration flare in my mind.

"I like nerds," I said shyly.

It made perfect sense in my mind.

"Nerds?" blurted Linna. From the expression on her face, I could've told her I like hamsters, or midgets, or something extraordinarily _weird._

"Well," I stood up for the person I once was, "Jocks are assholes. Nerds are quiet, shy and... "I blushed slightly, "we share common interests."

"Like what?" queried Linna, her face lighting up.

"Sequential art and animation," sounded so much better.

"What?"

"Anime and Manga."

Among other nerdy things. Linna just giggled softly into her own hand, "I get it!" she announced. "You used to be a nerd yourself, so you stick with what you know. You want to go out with yourself!"

Newspaper man harrumphed.

"Please," I begged, my eyes scanning around the otherwise empty bar. Shame flared hot throughout my body.

"It's no shame," she laughed, "Most women look to marry their fathers anyway."

"Besides it's true," I crossed my arms defiantly, "Nerds are nicer and will _appreciate _me. Is that what everyone wants?"

Linna nodded. "I suppose it's true. If you don't get many girfriends, you'll appreciate the ones you have even more."

I wasn't sure why I laughed at that, but I did.

"I came here to listen to Priss' new song, she said she was playing it for the first time in public tonight, how did we get onto this topic?"

I shrugged. "More Wine?"

"No, I have to drive," she answered. "Just lemonade or something when this runs out please."

The bar started to crowd, as more people filtered in. Wednesday night was Replicants night was a busy night. The noise level rose steadily as the evening rush hit hold, and I had to dart between customers and Linna.

"Nené won't be here," she called over to me while I dealt with some gentleman's drinks, "She's doing overtime to pay for Sunday?"

"Sunday?" back to the man involved, "3200 yen please, can you carry?"

"Club Rule 11... Penalty for any violations is Death. In this case, Death by Chocolate," she giggled, "Nené's paying for a five star meal at the St. Regis hotel."

I winced. The place where a cup of coffee cost more than I made in a week. "Poor Nené."

"Her own fault," shrugged Linna.

Making change while holding conversation, thank God for being a boomer. Yes sir, that's 2600 yen for the lot and Isildore will bring it to the table. Two pints of Kirin, bottle of red wine? One moment.

"Anyway Linna, I don't think I have proper clothes," I said as I breezed past, "Denim not thing for expensive place."

I could do it, but I'd feel like an idiot.

"We can go shopping during the week," suggested the Saber brightly, as I passed in the opposite direction, arms full of cold bottles " I know this place that does good clothes, but is pretty cheap."

"No problem," I nodded.

Clothes shopping... never interested me before. But I needed something formal to wear... and I needed an expert opinion. Besides, spending time with Linna was nice. That'll be 1220 yen, thanks mate...

"Only free on mornings or Sunday," I said, punching figures into the till. It told me the answers I'd had long ago.

"Sunday morning?" she questioned as I rushed past with the change

"Sunday's good," I said, quite easily keeping up with demands.

Pints of beer, bottles, glasses, ice, water, lemonade... easy enough. Make change... another person staring at my chest... shrug, as if that'd change anytime soon. Count it out, hand it back. Next in line, some other redhead more interested in trying to score with Linna... Guinness and whatever she's having, coming right up.

I heard the distinctive crack of palm against cheek behind me. When I got back, he was gone, and Linna was steaming with anger. There was money on the table

"At least he paid for drink first," I gave a half hearted laugh.

"Yep, pervert," she snorted, flexing her right hand.

Justice had been served, leaving a bad taste in its victim's mouth. I watched him skulking towards a corner, and silently signalled to one of the bouncers to escort him from the premises. A little favouritism never hurt anyone.

"I love this job," I grinned at her, gesturing smugly towards the front door, where the redhead was being tossed out on his arse.

"This boomer is assaulting me!" he screeched, drawing hundreds of eyes, "It's berserk! You see it! It's assaulting me."

He was carried like a squealing pig. Now _that's_ job satisfaction.

The Replicants took stage afterwards, with only a few hangers on left behind up in the bar, while the rest were ensnared by the rapture of the dance floor below.

"This is a new one we've been working on," Priss started, ruffling that blonde wig of hers. She had a unique way of addressing each and every member of the audience personally, simultaneously. As she stood at that mike, you always felt as if you were the only person in the entire building, "It's about how, no matter how far you get knocked down, no matter how backed into a corner you are, you should never give up!"

Priss punched the air and the crowd cheered.

"This song's called Victory."

Cheers turned to ecstatic screams as the guitars kicked in, the beat punching hard in the chest. In the corner, my laptop was hooked into the audio feed, recording a bootleg for the PirateShip.

-----

Sunday morning, and I was waiting for the knock on the door from Linna, shopping, then a fitting for a new hardsuit, followed by a gourmet meal at someone else's expense.

Outside, basking in the morning sun, Megatokyo carried on as it always did, the binmen's strike being ended by summary dismissal of all involved, including those who passed the pickets. Their replacements were new Ebisu-made Be-66 with newly developed power boosters, the announcement of the contract being broadcast by the cast-plastic face of the machine's designer, one Miriam Yoshida, with a Cheshire-cat grin plastered on that face, set fast by layers of false-tan.

An arrogant bugger alright, it was so obvious, it was hilarious. When was it, he'd orchestrate the assault on the ADPolice building? The end of 2033, if I remembered right. There were a load of little clues to be found, the first links in the chains of future events being forged on TV, radio and in the newspapers. I only knew about it, because I knew where some of these chains would go. And then, there were the results of my presence.

"_Coming soon on DHK-4, the inside story of murder and intrigue within one of GENOM's most secret programs, an interview with a victim of corporate machinations."_

An ecstatic thrill ran through my body each time that ad ran on television. I saved Irene's life!... sort of. And I'm glad I didn't have to die to do it.

The cleanup from Monday's floods marched onwards, a good chunk of the fault still being a poor man's Venice. ADPolice were investigating a collapsed building, and the remains of a firefight, while elsewhere in the city, rioting former sanitation workers had put three officers in hospital. There was a new governor being installed by the SDPC in Aldrin city, on the Moon. SDPC-IV _'Kindlinas' _was being repaired after being hit by Hubble, but the problem of space debris was still being mostly ignored. The Union of Space Security and Defence was too busy sorting out the public mess after the killer doll incident to do much about it anyway.

The Knight Sabers were rarely if ever mentioned. GENOM's search engine didn't even provide any hits online for the group, and even the independent search engines only brought up a few stray websites, with the barest smattering of grainy, motion-blurred photographs, and testimony from a few ADPolice officers, office labourers and randomers from the streets who claimed their lives had been saved by the hardsuited Sabers were practically spectres... people believed they existed, but nobody knew for sure. There were rumours of a program that had once been on the 'net, a puzzle which once solved included an invitation to join the group, but most of those were second hand. It still made me question what Sylia would've done if a man had solved it before Nené...

I remembered what Tet had written in that letter, about why I was a 33-S, and came to the obvious conclusion:

She probably would've paid for the surgery. I gave a harsh laugh at the thought of it. At least they were keeping quiet, that was the main thing. Whatever they wanted me to do, I was obviously doing it well enough that they were quite happy to leave me alone.

And who was Toren Smith anyway?

The animé reference was obvious, but it didn't mean anything. There were plenty of people who 'rejoiced' in being named after TV characters, by unfortunate accident or through cruelty of parent. The building manager was a former Kendo practitioner who rejoiced in the name Akane Saotome, but she grew up in former Kobe from what I'd heard, and was nearing 80. For obvious reasons, she _hated_ Ranma ½.

There was nothing I could find on the internet about Toren. Probably because it was just a bloody pseudonym. Tet corp had a website alright, but it wasn't all that helpful. It was run by the Carver family, and was generally regarded as an honourable corporation by the denizens of the web, holding itself to the highest standards of corporate responsibility and ethics. It was also famous for a single blood red rose in their corporate headquarters' lobby, apparently decades old.

I sat there, reading this on my laptop screen, wondering where I'd seen all this before. There was something disturbingly familiar about it, like staring at a college exam paper I hadn't quite studied enough for. Everything looked _familiar, _I remembered seeing it somewhere, perhaps reading about it, but for the life of me no matter how much I wanted to, I just couldn't place it. Some part of my brain had decided it would've been bloody hilarious to hide that fact from me, and watch me sweat trying to figure out what it was.

It was like my second year maths exam alright. I stared at it, wracking my brains for an answer, but nothing volunteered itself.

Nothing at all.

Not a sausage.

Maybe they erased it?

A dread chill fell over my body as I ruminated over the possibility. It wasn't a hard thing to do. It would've had to have been done already... I was three years old, with no memory of those years. They'd been replaced completely with _my_ memories, maybe there were a few phantoms left behind after the process?

I sighed...

Another Ghost in the 'X'... I was getting bloody sick of it.

That was a good and interesting analogy a month ago, now it was just an annoying buzzword inside my head. I was the Ghost in the Machine, the sexaroid with a soul. Priss liked to call me a Ghost in the Shell, again not a bloody animé reference... Priss wasn't the type to be able to tell a Motoko Kusanagi from a motorised lawnmower... she meant exactly what she said. As far as she was concerned, I was a dead person, alive only inside a machine body. And now I was talking to myself about Ghosts of memories...

A Ghost was a shadow of something that had once been alive, a spectre that didn't physically exist in any form, but could still be sensed. Data was a ghost, data didn't exist, as such... it was just a few bits flipped a certain way on a disk platter... and if the human mind could be manipulated as easily as a spreadsheet on a disk... It was illegal of course, but it could still be done. Illegality just made it expensive. The same basic techniques originally designed to program/reprogram cyberdroid biochips, as far as I understood it.

This was tiring.

I slammed the brakes on in my mind. I hated things like this...

It was a small mercy when Linna finally knocked, the doorbell having gone the way of the air conditioner. Three sharp raps on the steel door and I was freed from my own mental trap. Thank you Linna Yamazaki... I could've kissed her... I wanted to do it, to just press my moist lips up against her own and let the sparks fly, but I sullenly squelched that thought underfoot with a mental sigh. It just wouldn't work. I stamped down hard on the hollow melancholy welling up the back of my throat, and forced a plastic smile.

Door open... a can of WD-40 having silenced the hinge... "Morning!" I bubbled. I was trying to hide the tug of war going on deep inside. I was glad to be going out, but there was something empty about it... I couldn't put my finger on it at the time. I knew I considered Linna a friend, Nené too, but there was _something_ missing inside...

"Morning Meg!" answered the fitness instructor, adjusting her hair-band a little. "Ready to go?"

A sullen Nené followed behind, looking like an inmate walking the final mile, or maybe a child being pulled through a sweet shop, whose parent was a fruit loving dentist.

"Morning," she said, pursing her lips bitterly for a second.

"Come inside for tea or something?" I offered, standing aside from the doorway.

"No," she shook her head, " We really have to hurry, before the city begins to fill up, y'know."

"Yup," I nodded, and Nené sighed.

"And I still don't have enough money for the meal tonight,"

"Well that's your own fault," chided Linna.

"I _know"_ groaned the hacker, throwing her eyes to the heavens. "Rule Number 1... but I thought it didn't matter since Sylia'd already decided,... This is going to _suck,_"she complained, putting her hands into her pocket.

"Then why did you come?" questioned Linna, a fiendish smirk forming on her lips.

"Because... !" blasted the police operator, before running right into a mental brick wall... "I forgot," she finished, her voice like as small a solitary shrew in a cathedral. She twirled a few strands of pink hair around between her fingers, looking desperately like she wanted to just melt into the concrete walkway. I giggled into my hand, having picked up that little mannerism sometime over the last month.

"Don't rub it in," she groaned to her feet, "I can't even use my club account until after I pay for this, Sylia locked it out."

"Harsh," winced Linna.

"Definitely... " I concurred.

"At least it's Death by Chocolate, and not Death by... " she paused... "How would Sylia enforce rule 11 anyway?"

I shrugged, "I do not think she would."

"Not unless someone was a spy anyway," giggled Linna...

A sudden crushing silence descended on the three of us, punctuated only by the distant chatter of the television behind me. We glanced between each other, the atmosphere quickly turning oppressively stale.

"Well, they'd deserve it!" declared Nené to the world.

A few kids playing football in the car park below looked up for a moment, before returning to their game.

"I don't think anybody would," I said... even the thought of it made me uncomfortable, "Everybody friends right?... So no betray friends?"

Both women nodded.

"But there are some things that are more important that friendship," noted Linna, sighing as she leant down against the guardrail, staring the the opposing building. "Each of us probably has a weakness somewhere."

Change the subject... for God's sake change the subject...

"Like Cheesecake," I grinned viciously at Nené

"I do not have a weakness for cheesecake!" she screeched, her face reddening beautifully.

"On the way here you were saying how you'd saved enough money to try their Greek Ice-Cream with Belgian chocolate hot fudge sundae for dessert," accused Linna.

Nené was the sacrificial lamb, for the sake of improving everyone's mood...

"Alright," she moaned, defeat weighing down on her shoulders "But if I have to pay for it, I can at least treat myself, right?"

"Speaking of tonight, we'd better get going before the traffic gets too heavy," Linna reminded us that we were still standing just outside my apartment. "And don't forget your handbag, Meg," she reminded me personally.

"Not have one," I answered with a smile, showing my empty hands before I pulled the door shut behind me.

The TV was still on... forgot about that, but I had my keys, and more importantly, my wallet. This promised to be fun.

I had to sit in the back of Linna's Scenic... not that I minded. The two other Sabers chatted to each other up front, about Linna's new boyfriend, about Nené's upcoming promotion and just how much this meal was going to cost, and how much overtime Nené had to do... and would have to do to cover the bill. I really didn't feel like anything I had to say would add to to conversation... I'd never had a boyfriend, didn't work for the police, hated overtime but loved money as much as the next person, and just didn't feel like talking. Watching the city outside rush past, my thoughts kept drifting back to what Linna had said about weaknesses. That was how Sylia had convinced me to join, after all... by dangling something in front of me I couldn't resist... what would it take to force me to turn against them?

How much money?

Or even just a threat against someone I cared about?

Well, that wasn't a problem for me... Unlike Nené, I didn't have any family. It occurred to me that maybe that was why Sylia seemed to prefer orphaned children, people with very few family ties to be pulled on, very few connections to anyone... nobody who could be used as leverage. I had no family here... my only friends were in the two front seats of this car... my job was disposable, my little secret identity... well... that was something I'd talked over with Sylia a while back. Sylia'd promised to protect me if that happened, and I'd trust her more than anyone trying to blackmail me.

Provided I could keep a rational head, of course.

There was one thing though... one little idea that nagged at me.

What if someone offered me a way home?

A door back to my old life, the only catch being I had to tell everything and anything about _the club_ to the person with the key. Well, there was only one group who knew where I came from, only one group who probably had the technology to send me home. And this was the same group who wanted me to be a member of the Knight Sabers in the first place?

I had a dreadful idea why... not for information... they might want a mole to destroy the organisation, from the inside. Just plant the bomb in the building and we'll send you home... easy as pie. Betray us, and be a sex toy for the rest of your life. My eyes stared back at me, my reflection sullenly watching the world outside. Two AD Police trucks were parked outside café, one scorched and dented.

What would I do?

At first, I thought I would jump at the chance, do _anything_ to go home, to see my dog, my family... to have everything back the way it was, but watching the city go past, I wasn't so sure about that.

Would I betray Sylia, Priss, Nené and Linna, for the sake of just getting home?

I'd be tempted... _sorely_ tempted.

-----

Shopping made sense, when you were the one trying clothes on anyway. It might even have been fun. Silk and satin, skirts, blouses and dresses... all were tried and tested. And Nené sat through it all, wearing that same bored-to-death look I'd worn many times myself... in a past life. Maybe that was what made the difference. The gossip was... well... gossip. I started jutting in every now and then, if the conversation drifted to something I knew about, like car maintenance, comfort over fashion... always comfort... and the relative merits of certain sexual positions. That last one made two things perfectly obvious. Linna knew what she was talking about. Nené didn't.

I still didn't understand the whole deal about sexy lacy lingerie, it was a pain to put on, a pain to take off, and just looked uncomfortable and pointless... considering it was underwear never to be seen by anyone. But false silk was more comfortable against sensitive skin the cheap cotton...

It was a good few hours...

I actually felt like I was there as part of a group for a while, rather than just a hanger-on showing up to make up the numbers. A small voice pointed out that this was only because they didn't know what I actually was. I squashed that thought... it was too nice being with people to worry about things like that. Just sit back in the car and enjoy it. The things you find out about people.

Nené Romanova claimed to be a descended of the Russian Royal Family... If that was true, then I was the King of England.

It was mid afternoon, when Linna finally parked up outside Raven's. The shock of jumping out of a nice, cool air-conditioned car, and into the forge that was the fault nearly floored me. It kicked the breath out of my lungs, and I staggered to the shade.

Our bags were left in the car, hidden in the boot. This was not the best part of town to leave expensive clothes sitting in plain view inside a car. Either the clothes or the car would go missing.

"Afternoon, ladies," greeted Raven, the old scientist polishing one of his projects, an old black Supra. "Sylia and Priss're downstairs."

"Thanks, Doctor," the three of us chorused... more or less. Different accents, different honorifics, even different languages, but the gist of it was the same.

"Oh and Meg, One thing." he held me up for a second.

"What?"

He'd restored my bike already?

"I told you so!" he boasted, slapping me hard on the back. I glowered down at him for a second, but he stood firm and cackled like a mad scientist, before giving a thumbs up. I just sighed and smiled. With hindsight, it really should've been bloody obvious to me what was happening.

"Yeah."

"Don't feel so bad," he consoled, "The other two said the exact same thing when they first joined."

"And Priss?"

The doctor exhaled, massaging his chin with his hand as he thought back.

"Sylia'd recruited her well before she told me what she was planning. You'd have to talk to Priss herself about that."

And Priss wouldn't say a word if I asked... and I'd probably earn a thick lip to boot. I didn't see her inside the garage, so I guessed she might've been 'downstairs'. I followed Linna and Nené through, each of us giving a quick "Hi," as we passed.

"Hey," the boy glanced up from the bare bones of his project to watch us pass.

Nené smiled at him, and the air tingled with a brief flash of hormonal attraction, even if neither of the two knew it themselves yet. It was like a spark off a nine-volt battery, compared to a bolt-of-lightning that was full-on thunderstruck love... the same basic thing, only one was smaller, and harder to spot, and not likely to leave its victims frazzled and smouldering when it was done. It might flare up, given the right sort of tinder, I thought... smirking to myself.

"Just come in here," beckoned Linna, keying the access code into that same closet in back. Nené stretched and yawned as she waited.

"You sure Sylia didn't change the keycode," she questioned.

I was more interested in the K100-shaped tarpaulin in the corner, wondering just what Raven was planning for it. I was trying desperately not to think about what exactly I was about to be doing. I was about to be fitted for a _hardsuit_... That thought simmered fitfully at the back of my mind, and in the pit of my stomach. I tried not be be nervous, I tried not be be excited, I tried to be as unbothered by it as possible, as if this was just a fact of life, same as for the other two women still fiddling with the keypad.

"I entered the right code," said Linna, standing back. She gave it a perplexed stare for a moment, putting her hands on her hips. "It just isn't unlocking."

She brushed her headband back, pulling a few stray hairs out of her eyes.

"Let me see," Nené bustled her out of the way, pressing against the otherwise unremarkable door.

Tap-tap-tap... click... Tap. She tried the keys. Frowning, she tried them again. Scowling, she stabbed at them.

"Stupid thing," she spat.

"I've changed the locking module," the door answered in Sylia's voice. "The new access codes haven't been set yet."

"Why doesn't she tell us these things _before_ we make fools of ourselves," lamented Nené, punching 0000 into the keypad.

"Some tech-genius," needled Linna as she leant in over the shorter woman's shoulder.

Nené threw her a bitter glare.

"It not obvious change," I weighed in on her side, earning a small smile for my troubles.

The door unlocked with a click, the hacker pulling it open. Inside, were the same cleaning supplies as Saturday, a mop, a few slops buckets, and bottles of caustic cleaners marked with hazardous characters. The smell radiating out was enough to bring tears to the eyes.

"Is this really it?" I wondered aloud, giving the pair a dubious look.

"Yup," nodded Linna, "Just follow us in and see," she beckoned towards the open door, with a open handed gesture that reminded me of a Disneyland tour guide.

"It's really quite cool," Nené assured.

"Still look like closet," I stated, right down to the rusty nails holding the overloaded shelves up. A few spanners hung off the wall, a pair of old light switches and some footprints in the dust on the floor, one set from a pair of boots, the other from high-heels.

Conspicuously, nothing was actually mounted on the floor… everything was hanging from the walls. Trepidation crawled across my back as my mouth ran dry.

"Just step inside, Meg, and watch," Linna smirked at me.

"Alright," I stepped forward, joining the two women in the closet. The door snicked shut, trapping the three of us in an inky black closet for an instant.

And I started laughing madly, braying like a donkey in that dark, cramped space.

"What's so funny?" queried Nené's puzzled voice, her hot breath close enough to tickle my ears

"Share the joke, Meg," Linna said.

"Three woman inside closet," I coughed out, trying to hold it it.

I was answered by a pair of exasperated sighs as a set of cold fluorescent lamps buzzed and flickered into life, bathing the closet in harsh light. The laughter died in my throat, childish excitement sending shudders through my legs, my whole body lurching upward, the floor dropping from beneath my feet. I glanced around, swallowing. Nené and Linna smiled back at me, a bottle of pink liquid stacked on the shelf beside me sloshing gently. That is so cool... A secret agent lift! A bit cliché for it to be a supplies closet, mind. I felt like a child being led down the stairs on Christmas morning, body prickling with anticipation as I tried to picture what was waiting for me below.

I had an image of what was underneath Lady633 in my mind, mixed with half remembered fragments of animated equipment from OVA 8. Fitted for a hardsuit... that's what Sylia told me I would be doing. I knew exactly what was going to happen... okay, I had a decent idea what was going to happen.

Somebody pinch me please.

"I'll definitely reach level 4 today," Nené affirmed to herself, gritting her teeth. "I nearly got it the last time."

"And the time before that," Linna finished for her. "And before _that._"

"Is level 4 good?" I asked. If I remembered the episode right, normal people should be capable of level 5 out of the box... so to speak.

"Not especially, I hit Level 6 on my first try," Linna told me with a wry smile, carefully.

"Yeah, but you're a fighter... _I'm_ the electronic warfare specialist." Nené said, "You and Priss are the brawn, but I'm the _brains._"

"And Sylia?" I questioned.

"She just supervises," said Nené as the lift juddered to a halt.

"As I hear, she saved you from a 55-c last mission, " needled Linna as the doors opened. "Is that, true, Meg?"

I shrugged, "I was busy." Busy either trying in vain to gun down a boomer, or lying on my back in agony with nine-inch-nails striking out of my chest... Still, I almost felt sorry for the pink-haired policewoman... almost. It was just too funny. The door clicked as it unlocked, and I opened it, taking a long, deep breath closed my eyes and stepped forward. Half expecting to open them to see the same back-room in the garage and be met by mocking laughter, I was surprised to find myself standing under cold fluorescent lights, with even colder air lapping at any exposed skin.

"Bloody hell," I exhaled, taking a quick glance around.

No other words were necessary. Equipment lined the walls... exercise, testing, imaging, and some things I just couldn't figure out. Two hardsuits were mounted on hangers against the far wall, Priss' and Linna's... Priss' suit half dismantled with some of its armour missing. The structure beneath the armour glinted tantalisingly, cabled conduits and linear motors flowing across the underlying structure, pushing and pulling across the thighs and hips. I wanted nothing more than to run up and inspect ever last mouth-watering detail. I wanted to know how it was built, how it had been put together, how each and every piece worked and what exactly it did.

I wanted my own suit. I wanted it so badly I ached for it, deep inside. I hungered for it.

"We're here," Linna called out over my shoulder.

"About time," Priss' voice answered from somewhere inside. I couldn't see here anywhere.

"You're an hour late, ladies," remarked Sylia, appearing at another doorway, "Priss has already completed her tests."

"There was an accident on the AIC expressway, we had to wait an hour for it to clear," explained Linna, exhaling, "Stupid highway patrol."

It was a lie... we'd gotten hung up flitting from shop to shop trying things on to the point where we'd lost track of time, well, Linna and Nené anyway, I'd been having such a good time that I'd just decided to ignore my own clock.

"I see," said Sylia dubiously, probably not buying it, but not really too concerned about pushing it. "Well, we have to make up for lost time then, the reservation at St. Regis is for 10pm," she smiled, adjusting the lapel on her white lab jacket. "And we'll need to be done a few hours before that."

Nené winced, clutching her handbag.

It was 15:56:34, according to my clock.

"So, how did it go?" she questioned, "Did anyone buy anything interesting?" She had a curious gleam in her eyes, that reminded me of Nené anytime I'd allowed her to hack away at my laptop.

"Surprise," I winked, giving a teasing smirk. Very surprising... considering what I normally wore. And bloody expensive to boot.

"You'll have to wait until we get to the hotel," said Linna, "We got something really special for ourselves."

"And Nené?"

The young woman answered with a despairing frown, puppydog eyes glistening, "You know I don't have the money," Something sparked in her mind, a light going on behind her eyes. He fist clenched tight with determination, fires of confidence building inside her stocky frame. "Double or nothing!" she declared, "If I clear level 3 today, I don't pay for anyone's meal... if I lose, I pay for two."

Her voice resonated off of white concrete walls, melting into the buzz of the overhead lighting. Three women inhaled a deep breath.

"I'll take that bet," Priss' sweat drenched face appeared from a doorway to some chamber to the right of the room. "Two free meals are better than one!"

She was wearing that demon's grin of hers, and a skintight bodysuit that left nothing to the imagination... literally.

"Me too!", piped up Linna, "I know a sure thing when I see it."

Nené was appalled at the betrayal, her mouth gaping open like a fish's. "Et tu, Brutus?"

Sylia just stood there in her lab coat, considering which side to take.

"I side with Nené," I stood firm. The hacker's spirits picked up for the briefest moment.

"If you lose you pay for ours with Nené!" Priss and Linna chorused immediately.

"If I win you pay me!" I cut back.

"Agreed," they answered.

Wait... I can't afford this if I loose... I glanced down at the hacker beside me, a gentle nervous shake taking hold of her frame.

"I don't think gambling helps the team dynamic," demurred Sylia, sounding like almost like every primary school teacher I'd ever known. "This is not a competition."

All of us frowned like disappointed children.

"But I think you will beat Level 3 today," she placed a light hand on the young woman's shoulder. "So I guess I'm in, same terms as Meg."

"See!", teased Nené, suddenly overflowing with confidence. She crossed her arms defiantly, standing as tall as her 5 foot frame allowed. Her skirt seemed to billow in some imaginary breeze, conjured by her own self belief and determination. Grimly, she took one step forward. Thank Christ... my money was safe.

Linna and Priss exchanged nervous glances across the room... the ground under their feet melting away. They laughed a fatalist, gallows laugh... this was going to be expensive... for them. They would be strung up by their purse-strings tonight. Sylia's same soft smile remained unchanged.

Heh... Do not believe in yourself, Nené, but believe in Sylia, who believes in you!

I didn't have the guts to say it, and nobody would've gotten the joke even if I'd been able to say it out properly in Japanese anyway, so why bother? I just sighed quietly to myself and forgot about it instead, just enjoying my own private amusement with a dumb smile on my face that nobody bothered with.

"Anyway, let's get started, shall we. Meg will have to be shown how to wear a softsuit. There's a personal one in your locker, Meg. And I've replaced yours Nené, because of that _problem_ you reported."

She was answered by the sound of barely restrained laughter. Three guesses what Nené's problem was, I thought.

"Thank you," she beamed, her turquoise eyes bright and wide.

Underneath, I could smell a building apprehension, radiating hot off of her with a scent a little like burnt wood, mixed with strawberry perfume. My locker was closest to the door, beneath a small keyhole surveillance camera drilled into the wall. I stared into it, barely half a centimetre across as I undressed. Nice one Mackie, nice one. No human would spot it unless they were going out of their way to search for it... I pulled the softsuit out of my locker... the right one helpfully labelled with 'use this for tests'. It was light, feeling a little like some sort of high-density elastic silk. Sheer smooth, feather light, and stretchy as a pair of latex gloves.

"Are you sure this is right size?" I held it up by the collar. It was smaller than a five year old's pyjamas.

"One size fits all," said Nené, pulling hers inside out. "Watch this Meg, it's easy to do, just mind the plumbing connections is all."

She placed it on the sterile plastic flooring, stepping onto the feet, before slowly rolling the jet-black and mauve garment up her body. It creaked and squeaked as it slid over pale skin, stretching and snapping over her chest, before clamping tight around her neck. Mine was different though... slightly... it didn't have the same bare back as Nené's, or the others.

"_Like a bloody Gimp suit,_" I mumbled, tugging at it. It'd make ideal fetish-wear alright.

Nené giggled, "That's what I said at first," arching her back to emphasise her 'luscious'... in her own words... figure. Truth was, it did sort of help. Out of the box, was best described as a little bit stocky, being only about 5 foot tall but still as broad as Linna and Priss, though with the softsuit on, it seemed to distort her proportions a little, like some clever optical illusion, to make her seem a little like a shorter legged Linna Yamazaki.I gazed down into the black void inside the neck of the suit.

It still didn't look big enough.

But somehow it was, even if getting it over my chest was a bloody pain... literally. To universal joy, I only managed to get the collar halfway up and over, before it slipped out my fingers and bit down on sensitive flesh with a whip-like crack... shortly followed by an agonised yelp. Tight was an understatement... Latex gloves were tight... this thing was practically bonded to the skin.

It sucked down onto my body like a vacuum pack, drawing up inside each and every nook and cranny. I think I knew why Sylia preferred women for the Knight Sabers... I could imagine how painful... and embarrassing... this would've been if I'd been my old self. The suits really did show _everything._ As it was though, after a few minutes waiting for it to stretch a bit, the suit was pretty comfortable, even if I got the feeling part of it was actively trying to worm its way inside places I didn't want to think about.

I glanced back at the crystal lens of the camera. If I'd been human, I'd never have been able to spot it without searching for it. One point towards being a boomer then... I promised myself I'd tell Sylia at some stage, although a little bird on my shoulder told me she probably already knew it was there.

"Comfortable?" enquired Sylia, seeing me still soothingly rubbing my stinging chest.

"Yeah," I nodded.

"You'll be going last, Meg, so you can watch the others and see how the simulation equipment works."

I swallowed a lungful of air... "Still hard to believe," I said, watching through a laminated glass window as Linna danced her way through Level 5. Nené was busy helping Priss with what looked like some sort of weight training, and Linna was focusing on what looked like a D20 made of frogspawn. Transparent, cellular, and with a little spot on each facet.

"What is?"

I was going to repeat the same old spiel about me not being meant for this sort of life, never wanting this sort of life, and how it had all been a TV show 4 weeks earlier, but it was starting to seem like a waste of time even thinking about it.

"I am a Knight Saber," I said, trying those words on for size. It still didn't feel like the fit quite right. I could've been the baby with his foot in a clown shoe. Those words were a vast responsibility, and it seemed impossible that I would fill into them.

And suddenly, I thought of my dog back home, and how he used to fit into my boot when he was a puppy, and I just felt smaller... and a little colder.

"Yes, you are Meg," confirmed Sylia, "I assume I don't need to repeat the rules of the organisation?"

I nodded, "I remember them well enough from the show."

"This is not a TV show, Meg," she reminded me, her voice hardening.

"I know," I breathed, "Same thing I tell myself regularly. It's a bloody difficult thing to forget, though. People wished they could be Knight Sabers, they wrote stories about themselves in hardsuits... some of which I read," I felt stupidly ashamed for a moment, "I mean... this is the sort of thing that happens in those stories... almost word for word it could be right out of a page. It sounds daft to read it, and then funny... " I sighed, running a hand through luscious hair, "... when I realise that that's exactly what's happened to me."

"Oh."

"I arrived in MegaTokyo, ran into Irene, ran into yourselves, nearly got killed twice, and end up joining up with the Knight Sabers to be a hero,... " I laughed... "Sounds like every self insert fanfic I ever read."

For the briefest of moments, Sylia looked almost confused, before the businesswoman mask fell back into place.

"And there was a time, when power-armoured sentai teams were confined to animated series, too," she said. "I watched several when I was a girl. I used to feel the same way, when I first started fighting in a hardsuit," her expression darkened again. "But this is not a TV show. When people die, I can't just rewind the disk and watch them stand back up. A man doesn't run out in front and yell 'cut' after each explosion to give stuntmen a chance to haul themselves out of styrofoam rubble. The dead don't walk out of shot to be replaced by bloodied mannequins." her eyes fixed me solid, "I watched the DVD's, those animated people who seemed to die for no reason other than to demonstrate just how dangerous that Bu-55-C was, those people had families... wives, husbands, children even. Every single one of them was a real person, with hopes and fears, and when they are gone, they are gone forever, understand?"

I nodded dumbly... words catching in my throat. "I know... I've known since I got here. It's just hard to shake that feeling is all, y'know?" I exhaled a breath I'd forgotten I was holding.

"I can understand," she said, the softness returning for a moment, "But it is something for you to remember. On a mission, in your hardsuit, if you start thinking you're invincible because you're some kind of main character, or that those people in the city don't matter because they're stock characters not even worthy of a name, then you're going to find yourself brought down to earth with a terminal bump."

"I promise to wear a red shirt on every mission," I reassured her, grinning caustically, hoping to pick the mood up off the floor with a bit of humour.

"This isn't funny, Meg," she admonished.

Didn't anyone here watch the classics?

"I know... I was just trying to say I know I can die. And so can everyone else."

"That's good," she smiled, while I leant down against the computer consoles, reading out details of Linna's efforts down in the simulation room. She was barely breaking a sweat, while my own reflection in the mirror was already damp. "Now then, I can tell you the good news. Your hardsuit will be ready before the end of the month, the raw materials and components arrived yesterday."

"Sweet," I grinned back, my mood doing its best impression of Lazarus.

"I think you'd do well as a more defensive fighter, along with some more mechanical tasks that would normally have been done by Mackie in his own battlesuit. The less he's in the field, the better."

It was perfectly clear, that she just didn't want to risk him getting hurt.

Again, I just nodded. "So stuff like blowing holes in walls and helping Nené with computers occasionally?"

"A little more complicated, but that's basically it, though you'll have more weapons to hand than Nené, so you should be able to handle yourself in a fight without having problems."

In the simulation pit, Linna brought her foot down in one long, arc, striking the hologram square on.

"Got it!" she cheered, the electronic apparition dissolving away into thin air. "Bring on Level 6!"

Sylia pushed a few buttons on the control panel, "Try make level 7, Linna."

The machine answered with a cheerful chirp, display readouts on the monitors vomiting up reams of electronic data about momentum, force, minutes of arc, orientation and a bunch of other parameters.

"I'm on a roll today," she breathed, trying to cool her body off, "This will be _easy._"

"I've been short on cash for the last week because I didn't get paid for the Gig I missed, _that's_ why I'm losing weight, but _two_ free meals at the St. Regis will definitely help," Priss voice rang out.

"Only if you win the bet Priscilla!" screeched Nené.

"That's _Priss!_" hissed Priscilla, looking like she wanted to put a dent in somebody's forehead.

Priscilla... a name for petticoats and flowers, not leathers and motor oil. I snickered into my own hand at the mental image that provided.

Linna was oblivious to everything except her simulated opponent, somersaulting out of the way of a lashing, whipping arm. She landed crisply into some kind of defence stance, arms guarding her face. The hologram took a high slash at her face, blocked easily with a swat of her arm, but opening a hole in her guard. The first blow was chased by a stabbing strike aimed directly at the opening. Linna's eyes glinted as she dropped low, before driving up with an uppercut aimed at some flashing point within the body of the projection. It jinked back, swinging around 180 with another of its unreal tentacles, aiming for the back Linna's neck. She pirouetted out of the way with a delicate precision twirl, before backing away to give herself some space to breathe.

Battle ballet. It was awesome. Her gaze sharpened as her opponent adjusted itself, computer systems taking fractions of a moment to analyse the situation and decide... It lunged forward once more, and the dance continued.

"I don't expect you to be able to match Linna on your first try," said Sylia, drawing my attention away, "so don't worry if you can't."

"As long as I get past level one I'm happy."

"The average woman should be able to complete level 5 without training, and most reach level 4 on their first try."

"Nené?" I asked.

"She started at level two."

"I see," I said, politely.

I didn't want to laugh... not until my own performance. That's a lesson I'd learned the hard way, several times before.

"Just do what comes naturally to you, Meg." She paused, thinking for a moment with her finger on her lips, "33-S do include self-defence programming," she said, her voice quiet and hidden by the argument behind.

Swallowing a sudden apprehensive lump, I just answered with "I know I do," I wished softsuits had pockets I could stick my hands into. Then I could slouch and act moody about it. "Another point in favour of the boomer." I sighed with a mellow smile.

"You've been keeping score?" Sylia quirked an eyebrow.

"Yup," I nodded with a grin, "Point for point, the boomer is winning."

For the briefest of instants, I saw a flash of surprise running across her face. Just a flash, not even enough to be a glimpse. But I saw it. I'd caught her off guard.

"I always believed a person in your situation would want nothing more than to be human again. I certainly think that if my humanity was taken away, I'd want it back."

She was wearing an almost rueful smile.

"I think some of it's programming," I told her, "Same way a baby knows whether it's a boy or a girl, even though it doesn't know what either is yet, I know what I am. The rest... well,... " how best to put it... "If I'm cursed, then I'm cursed with awesome. I like being what I am."

To prove the point, I stretched my body taut, arching my back as I reached for the ceiling.

"I probably wouldn't say the same if you'd decided to treat me as a piece of property, mind, and it has its quirks, but... it's more interesting than being just human."

I was hugging myself, arms across my chest, pushing my breasts up halfway to my chin.

"How so?" asked Sylia, her curiosity piqued.

"For one thing, I can see that camera over my locker... " I gestured towards the black dot on the wall, checking to make sure I could still see it "... from here."

"What camera?" asked Sylia, absolutely straight-faced.

"Oh... "

The realisation probably dawned on herself long before me.

"Mackie," she groaned. "I'll have to have a _talk_ with him about this."

Terrible things awaited that poor boy, I could see it in her eyes. Hell hath no fury like an elder sister scorned.

"That's just it," I carried on, "My senses _are_ sharper, but I don't notice it. Not until I remember that I'd never've been able to see that camera as a human, or feel each individual leg of some small bedbug on my skin in the morning. It's pretty cool."

I gave have a laugh, scratching the back of my head. I could feel each individual hair brushing across the back of my neck. I lingered on that sensation, analysing it, positioning each and every single point across my shoulders. I flicked a few strands off into the air, sensing them hanging for a second, before they came to rest.

Sylia gave me a knowing look, like she understood exactly what I was saying, but I didn't know how that'd be possible. The closest way I could describe it was as the difference between an old DVD, and a brand new super-definition HGD movie. The DVD seemed crystal clear, until you watched the same scene in HGD, and realised that yes, you can see each individual hair that made up the heroine's eyebrows.

It wasn't something that normally made a difference to my life, day to day. The world was built for humans, with human senses.

Linna grunted as she jumped back from another swinging blow, the projection lunging forward, driving another elastic-like tentacle towards the dancers legs. She sprung out of the way and landed hard, her face red with exertion, sweat trailing in glistening beads down her cheeks and onto her softsuit. Her chest was heaving hard as she tried to snatch her breath back, but the simulation wasn't going to give her that chance. It surged forward one final time, striking out first at Linna's stomach. She sprang back one more, landing slightly off balance. Somehow, the hologram knew this, and it took its chance. Pressing its advantage, it took one... two... three strikes. The first the aerobics instructor jumped over, the second she ducked under, landing with her legs apart. The third, punched right between her eyes and she froze, wide-eyed and beaten.

"Damn," she breathed, taking her weight through her hands before pushing herself upright.

Again, the console alarmed, reading out more and more data as the hologram evaporated into nothing.

"Nice work Linna, you've improved your score since the last time," Sylia spoke into a microphone. "Level 6.8, reflex speed of 7.9, You're ahead of Priss."

"I should be able to do better," she answered as Asagiri scratched her ears behind us, "The difficulty just hit a brick wall. One minute I could dodge it, then it just ganged up on me."

Pushing through the doorway out of the simulation room, she draped a fresh towel of her sweat-streaked shoulders, leaning back against the wall to catch her breath.

"The learning rate of the simulation ramps up the longer it runs," Sylia explained, "You took too long to beat it, and the program adapted to your fighting style."

"It didn't do that before," she wheezed.

"You didn't get this far."

She pushed her headband back, dragging soaked strands of hair off her face.

"It didn't even give me an opening. I'm certain of it."

"Maybe the random number generators went to an extreme value," theorised Sylia, "It can happen sometimes."

Maybe with a bit of luck on my side, I'd get an extreme value in my favour? Meg Deckard at Level 6 maybe... Level 7 even? Just how good was my self defence programming? Programming wasn't technically the right word... but it was close. A computer program was a copy of a series of machine instructions, logical operations performed within a CPU, each of which added together to form some task. Inside me, the instructions were coded as chemical signals on synapses, instructions to my body on how to block, punch and kick, how to stand, how to counter, how to dodge... the same as if I'd learned the skills the old fashioned way... except these were electro-chemically inscribed by a networked computer uplink through a digital co-processor.

The best thing about programmed skills was how natural they felt, as if I'd learned them myself. The worst thing was that I only knew I had them, not how capable the program actually was, not until I actually tried it out anyway.

I was curious to see just how capable I was, but it wasn't my turn.

"Now it's time to see how well miss cyberpunk can do," teased Linna, nudging Nené's shoulder.

"Hey Linna, don't tease the person who's kind enough to buy us dinner like that," mocked Priss.

"Shut up!" yelled the ADP operator, eyes welling up with what I could sense were crocodile tears.

"I've set the simulator to level two to lead in, Nené," Sylia nudged everyone back to business, "That should give you a fair warm up."

"Hey!" barked Linna, "Isn't it a conflict of interest if you're running the simulation when you've a bet on the result?"

"I have no problem," I cut in, wearing a cheese-eater grin. Priss shot a sharp glare back to me.

"Not really," answered Sylia. I could hear her almost rolling her eyes, wondering why she'd gotten involved. "The programs are fixed so results can be compared over time. If I changed them for the sake of winning a simple bet, it would invalidate all of Nené's results to date and corrupt the programming for her hardsuit."

What she left unsaid, I guessed, was that paying for a meal at MegaTokyo's most expensive restaurant was small change for her, especially when considered against the effort of recovering months of work. Linna and Priss still looked dubious about it, sharing suspicious glances between themselves. Nené looked like she wanted to die, like anything she'd eaten all day was about to be sprayed across Sylia's sterile floor.

"I've never tried wagyū beef," commented Linna with deliberate nonchalance, "It's always been too expensive."

"Shut up!" yelped Nené, her green eyes quivering.

I didn't think people could really do that. I could sense her whole body tensing up, her fear and confidence collapsing down around her feet. How did that Gurren Lagann quote go again… in Japanese?

Buggered if I know it.

"Good luck Nené," I offered, levering the full force of my pheromones behind it.

Then realised that it wouldn't work, since most of my body was sealed up tight inside a body-glove. At least it was the thought that counted. And a smile from a sexaroid would help. She just answered with a forlorn stare, all colour drained from her features. Help me, those eyes begged. She whimpered softly as she entered the training room.

I heard Priss whisper, "This will be quick."

Linna nodded, humming to herself, while figuring out how much she would gain if she won on her fingers. The bet was a sure thing, of course… Sylia was only siding with Nené for the sake of the girl's confidence….like all good leaders would.

It seemed awfully possible for a moment. How in the name of God would I afford a fifty-thousand yen meal? That was more than a month's rent for me. Of course, there was my Knight Sabers account, but the less I lived obviously beyond my means, the better. Nobody would ask questions about where I was getting the money if I didn't flaunt it. That's how Bugsy Malone got caught, because someone realised he had a vast fortune, which he hadn't paid taxes on.

"Nené, didn't you have your ADP training day on Thursday?" Sylia asked the microphone.

A moment of silence, as Sylia allowed the implications to stew for a second, the two women's minds ruminating over them.

"I failed," she admitted, curling up into herself, her body scrunching down into itself. Her eyes begged Sylia for remission.

"Don't fail here then," she advised warmly.

"I don't think I can afford it," she whined, near tears.

"Don't make bets you can't afford," suggested Priss sardonically.

"Consider it a learning experience," added Linna.

"Do your best, Nené!" I cheered, waving through the window.

She answered with the gaze of a wrongly condemned woman facing her final sentence.

"I don't think you can afford this either, Meg," Priss reminded me.

"I know," I answered sourly.

"I'd like to see any of you out there understand what a buffer-overflow is, or how I use that and an open port 72 to gain administrator privileges on the ADP network to erase the evidence of our dealings," grumbled Nené, dropping into a tense imitation of Linna's easy stance.

The young woman was shivering as a gaseous sphere materialised out of thin air in front of her.

"I'm not a fighter," she continued, "I'm the smart one. Making me fight is like making Priss do calculus."

"Hey! I can use a calculator!" the singer blasted back, "I'd like to see madam-cyberpunk stun a rampaging boomer with a railgun hit to the optics, before following through its neck with a knuckle bomber punch!"

She was answered by the crack of Linna's palm hitting her own face, and my own hand scratching the back of my neck sympathetically. Nené looked like she'd been struck by lightning.

Silence.

"….shit," said Priss.

"Nice own-goal," I coughed. I guess the signal from mouth to brain got cut off halfway, and the mouth decided to just go with it anyway.

"Punch first, ask questions later," giggled Linna. "That's Priss alright."

"Well it's not something I learned in school," countered Priss, her face red with embarrassed anger, She was livid…fury boiling in her body, directed not at Linna, not at Nené, not even at me, but right back at herself. It was written across her face. The implication I got from it was, she didn't even go.

"The test is about to start," Sylia stamped down firmly. "Level two should be a simple lead in. Just avoid the single tracking arm and hit three targets which appear in succession. You have to finish inside of three minutes."

Nené looked up and nodded morosely, before focusing her attention on the sphere.

"Start!"

The sphere lunged forward immediately, managing to catch the ADP officer off-guard. Maybe she hadn't expected it to be so aggressive. She yelped, jumping back away from its lashing tentacle, landing clumsily on both feet. Linna and Priss expected a quick finish, Nené hoped for one, and Sylia just watched with gentle curiosity. I stood there, fidgeting with my softsuit, tugging it out of places I didn't want it to go. Bloody persistent thing. A red light flickered within the sphere and Nené jumped at it, throwing her whole weight behind one single punch. Strike 1, announced the computerised displays, and I exhaled a breath I'd forgotten I was holding.

The single arm whipped around again, Nené catching sight of it at the last possible second. The girl ducked under, letting it pass over the back of her neck, before stepping backwards and out of reach. The sphere pushed her back further, slowly bringing its one orbiting limb back into striking position. It pressed Nené back towards the wall, computerised algorithms seeking to trap the opponent against the wall. Nené quickly threw a slow glance over her shoulder, noticing she was being slowly backed into a corner.

The sphere lashed out again and she ducked under, her face red already. Gingerly she crept past, keeping beneath the rotating arm. Free from the simulation's inexorable press, she bolted to safety. Another weak spot flashed red beneath the skin of the sphere, but it went ignored.

"Two minutes left, Nené," advised the leader of the Knight Sabers.

Nené stood facing the spinning sphere, which had slowly begun to slip towards her once more. She was shaking gently on her feet, swallowing a mouthful of something. The sphere surged forward, building up momentum with its single limb, cracking it like a whip through the space where Nené had been moments earlier. A cat-like smirk flashed across her features for an instant... before she stumbled, caught herself, then stumbled again. Nené caught herself clumsily, pushing herself to the feet with her hands.

The sphere charged at her again, and again she dodged it. Not so much an elegant ballet as with Linna, as a drunken dance, they spun around each other haphazardly, Nené more concerned with avoid a hit than taking strikes at the target. Her eyes were fixed wide open, staring hard into the sphere, trying to analyse and understand it.

It made one more attack, reaching for Nené's face, but she just stepped aside. The sphere's defences open, a third target flickered to life, deep inside the sphere. Composing herself, Nené punched forward, striking out with a closed fist, missing with the first swing as the hologram jinked right. Glancing back over her shoulder just in time, she spotted the sphere's whipping limb swinging around for a strike.

"Got her," Priss muttered.

Nené proved her wrong, jumping back with a yelp as if she'd been burned.

"Nice one," I smirked, sensing safety for my wallet.

With a banshee shriek, Nené struck out at the point where she thought the target would be, and seemed almost surprised when she actually hit it. Two down, one to go.

"One more minute Nené," announced Sylia.

She nodded, sucking on her bottom lip as the hologram regrouped itself, reconsidering its strategy. The data streams on the monitors flickered as parameters updated and switched over, the sphere shimmering in mid air. Its arm dissolved down into a single black eye, the sphere rotating over on its back. Nené watched perplexed, trying to get a measure of it. She swallowed three great heaving breaths, wiping beads of sweat off her brow with the back of her hand.

"This might be interesting," Linna said quietly, "She's doing better than she normally does."

I turned my attention away from the sim-room. "Really?"

She nodded, "Yeah, Nené normally takes two or three attempts to beat this level, she's on a roll."

"I might get free meals after all," I smirked back at her.

I would've gotten them anyway, a little voice inside my mind prodded, if I'd never opened my mouth in the first place. But it wouldn't have been as fun... And I had to take Nené's side... if only to keep the balance. I mean, I used to be the unfit keyboard-jockey myself... Or himself. I really had to come up with a hard and fast way to define what I am, and who I used to be... A stunned shriek from Nené drew my attention back down to the sim-room, just in time to watch the sphere make one last pile-driver swing, its one limb arcing up over the top, plunging towards Nené's head.

She wasn't going to lose on level two, was she?

Nope!

Gracelessly, she dodged it to one side, nearly overbalancing and falling flat on her face. Clumsily catching herself, she stumbled round out of the way, as the whipping arm sliced through the floor and back around to the start.

"30 Seconds," stated Sylia.

"If she runs out of time, she has to start again." Linna told me quietly. "Three attempts to beat the level, then she fails on a timeout. One hit, and it's an immediate auto-fail... " a beat, "And the meal's at your expense," she giggled, placing a gloved hand on my shoulder.

I exhaled. "I know."

"20 seconds," Sylia informed us.

"The more she repeats, the more tired she'll be, the less likely she'll pass Level 3," Priss added her own two cents. "She's already missed a target anyway."

Sphere and Saber orbited around each other as they tried to size each other up... or at least, that's what it looked like. The sphere had to attack one more time to win, Nené just had to dodge for ten more seconds to get another go. Time ticked down digitally.

"10 seconds."

Nené glanced back at her for a second, as the sphere redoubled its efforts to attack, as if somehow it understood its own time was running out. Again, it tried to slam Nené to the ground, the young woman jumping back away from it. Scrambling back, she tried to get back, her feet skidding on the floor.

Another weak spot flickered red on top of the revolving sphere.

9 seconds.

Nené hit the floor, landing flat on her backside. "Dammit," she squeaked. Priss and Linna edged forward like vultures circling a kill. The sphere continued to rotate, bring its arm up and around.

8 seconds.

"She's done!" gasped Linna, pushing against the glass to watch the final moments. "The pressure got her." Nené's eyes widened with terror, the limb arcing inexorably towards her forehead.

7 seconds.

The young woman's instincts took over, lashing limb passing through the space once occupied by her head and through the floor.

"Nice one!" I cheered.

6 seconds.

The sphere continued to revolve as Nené scrambled back to her feet. Shaking her head, sweat showering from her hair, she steadied herself.

"5 seconds." Announced Sylia calmly.

Nobody breathed, three women pressing themselves against the glass. We saw Nené. Nené saw the target. We could see the information working its way from her eyes, through her brain, and down to her right shoulder.

She struck out closed-fisted at the target. The hologram lashed back with one final attack Nené had no chance to dodge...

4 seconds, according to my own clock.

The alarm sounded, databanks dumping terabytes to the screens. Down in the sim-room, Nené stood statue-still, eyes like saucers, mouth gaping open and closed like a goldfish. The sphere hung in the air like frozen smoke, its limb a few inches from the top of Nené's head. The sphere dissolved, leaving Nené standing there, her face the same shade of exhausted pink as her hair.

"I did it," she wheezed, gasping for air.

"Level two complete," announced Sylia, "Good work Nené, level 3 will start shortly."

The ADP operator looked like she was ready to cry. No more, those green eyes pleaded.

"Wow, she did it first go," said Priss, running her fingers through her damp hair. She stood over the terminals, inspecting the data like as if she could understand it even though she had about as much chance of figuring it out as your average Joe had of figuring out the laws of the European Union. It was just reams and reams of tangled waffle beyond all human comprehension.

"She'll be too tired to do anything at the next level though," opined Linna, "Look at her, she's ready to collapse as it is."

"Yeah but, less energy take for one try, than to do multiple." I tried to say something important, "More energy for next level than if repeated second to pass."

"True," she nodded, "But Nené's never gotten above a score of 5 on Level three anyway... she always gets killed on her first or second attempt."

"Shh, it's starting," Priss hushed, as a new target shimmered into being.

This time, the target was more of an inverse egg, with a heavy, faceted shoulder. Two black spots stared back into Nené's turquoise eyes as she lowered herself down into an imitation of a martial stance.

"Nené, The rules are the same as the last time. Three minutes to hit three targets. The enemy will now attack with two punching arms with a two metre reach, which you have to dodge." Sylia told her.

"This is easy," whispered Linna.

"Yeah, I breezed through this level first time," added Priss.

"Nené's good at the technical computer stuff, but she's got no reflexes, her body just can't react fast enough," the aerobics instructor gave her judgement, "But... "

"Start!" Sylia interrupted, silence falling as three women leaned in against the glass to watch.

The hologram bolted forward, striking first with a right aimed for Nené's head. "Eek!" she squeaked, ducking right out of the way, into the path of a second jackhammer left. She crouched and rolled... a move that surprised the hell out of Priss to say the least.

"It's not a movie," snickered Linna into her hands.

Nené scrambled to her feet, struggling to put distance between her and the chasing hologram. Desperation stained her features as she dodged another strike. A target flickered on the back of the hologram, but I don't think Nené even saw it.

Linna just grinned, "All this running around is giving me an appetite."

I was loosing mine quickly. "Do not count out."

This was going to be expensive. Nené made twice the cash I did a week... and she was going to have problems paying for this. I wondered if I could get credit somewhere...

Fast approval by 10pm?

For three minutes, Nené dodged, desperately keeping ahead of it. Slowly, she seemed to get the measure of its attacks, finding her feet in the simulation. She was bleeding sweat, drowning in her own exertions.

The alarm sounded once more. "Time up," Sylia announced.

Nené slouched on her feet, the last of her energy draining from her body, plashing on the floor at her feet. Her hair clung to her head, sodden with sweat, almost like a rat drowned in a vat of pink dye. She looked to her leader for relief, those eyes of hers begging for salvation.

"Two more attempts, Nené," informed Sylia, "Keep trying."

Gentle encouragement kept her in game. I put my hands into a pair of imaginary pockets on my hips, drawing a deep breath through my teeth.

"She has to attack it now, or she'll time out," Priss commented, quietly. Her red eyes stared down into the sim-room. "Or collapse. You can only dodge a boomer so long. Boomers don't tire, but we do."

"Make sense," I said.

I didn't tire in the same way as humans. Once Nené's body had run out of stored sugars, it switched to fats. When humans hit the wall after running out of glucose, they could keep going on fats, though at lower performance. I couldn't draw energy from fats at all, so when I hit the wall, I collapsed. That was it, I was done, flat on my face and with a hangover due the next morning as my electrolytes went spinning out of control while my body struggled to fuel itself.

My one big advantage, was with anaerobic exercise... even the fittest humans would only last about two minutes, my software told me, I could easily go for three times as long, maybe more if I pushed it.

"Second attempt, Start!"

I didn't know what was keeping Nené going... hungry determination, or a telepathic link with her bank manager reminding her of how far in debt she would be, but she took a single deep breath, and turned to face her holographic opponent.

Priss was quietly impressed, I could sense it... not that she'd admit it of course.

At first, it looked like more of the same thing, Nené being chased around by a hologram, barely able to stay in the game. Priss though, knew better.

"She's doing this on purpose."

"Really?" Linna and I chorused.

The group's assault expert just nodded. "She's looking for its weaknesses, when and how it attacks her, how it responds to her movements, when it will attack, and when it will retreat."

"You can see that?" I asked.

Priss nodded. "Yup."

I got it, I could see exactly how Nené's mind was working. A cracker probes a system for vulnerabilities, scanning for ports and services that can be exploited, patiently and carefully poking and prodding, watching the systems responses, analysing and decoding them to reveal the slightest cracks which open up into the root access. Once Nené had the measure of a system, nothing would stop her.

"She Hacker. That how hackers think." I reduced it to my vocabulary.

Linna edged forward, sharing a grin with the pair of us,"I knew there was a reason she was hired."

Sylia glanced up from her terminal for a moment, wearing that impenetrably cool smile of hers. That's _exactly_ why she was hired, it said. Her plan only had just the one little flaw. She didn't have an infinite amount of time to probe the holograms defences, like she did some random GENOM database. Ready or not, next time out, she had to attack. It was her only chance to win.

This was going to be fun to watch.

Would Nené figure out the simulation's weaknesses in time? Would fatigue overcome the young woman before victory was hers? Would I be eating for free tonight? I wondered why Nené hadn't taken the same approach with level two... either it just didn't occur to her, or she didn't think it was a good idea until _after_ she'd nearly gotten her ass handed to her with he first attempt at level 3. Then again... if I understood what I'd been told correctly, she had _attempted_ level 3 several times, she'd just failed each time. And if she'd taken the exact same approach each time... the exact same approach had failed each and every single time...

Or maybe the idea had just been placed on the shelf in her mind labelled 'Too silly to be worth trying' until Nené'd finally decided she had nothing to loose. A minute left on her second attempt, a third target flashing up. She made a quick, token attempt to tag it, taking a mental note of exactly how it answered her attack, filing it away for later use. All her effort would be rendered moot if she got tagged herself, mind.

Stay alive for another minute.

Then three minutes to score three hits.

Easy-peasey, Japanesey.

Yeah bloody right. But that's what made these things a little exciting. And a gentleman's... sort of... wager was just the spice to give it a delicious kick. The final showdown was coming, the atmosphere stretching thick and taught with tension. The air was heavy with sweat and anticipation as Sylia announced the second timeout. Nené was dead on her feet. The hologram was just the same computer system it had always been, as efficient and controlled, running through the same target and tracking algorithms as always. She didn't look for relief. She didn't look at anything but the centre of the hologram, eyes fixing on a point somewhere inside the turquoise haze. The hologram hung in the air like frozen green smoke.

"This is it," said Priss.

"Paydirt," concurred Linna.

"For me," I finished with a smirk._"G'wan_ _Nené!"_ I punched the air.

She smiled at me. The one problem with the horse Priss and Linna had backed was this: How did you cheer on a hologram? Nené wasn't a horse, of course, but the metaphor held water... sort of. Did she have her plan ready? Did she have enough energy left? The young woman held her head low, shuffling her feet on the sterile floor. I could see the weight of fatigue she was carrying, dragging her down, her whole body slack with tiredness.

"Nené, this is your final chance to pass," Sylia told her. All Nené could do was nod, licking her lips. She needed a drink from _somewhere._

"She's too tired," said Linna, her voice hushed. "Seriously."

"She doesn't normally have to fight this long," agreed Priss. "She normally looses after a few minutes. It'd be hard not to feel sorry for her when this is over."

"Who say she going lose?" I remarked with a quick flash of a glare.

"She's too tired to win, she can barely hold up her own weight," Priss countered, "Let alone dodge or strike."

"Start!" from Sylia, left Priss with the last word, as silence dropped in.

I could hear Nené's wheezing, her body struggling for oxygen. Her face, hands and feet were a burning red. Her blue hair bow had fallen off sometime earlier, clammy strands of pink hair splayed across her shoulders. The hologram charged once more. For a moment, I didn't think Nené was even going to move. What? Was she just giving up? I winced back from the window, feeling a pain striking deep in my distant wallet as the hologram punched for Nené's face.

She took three steps to the left, and it drafted past her ear.

"Wow," someone breathed beside me.

Nené gulped for air as it whirled around to attack again. She turned about in time to come face to face with another holographic limb. Again, she stepped aside, three steps, this time to the right. The hologram bolted past, carried forward by simulated momentum. Nené stepped back towards the wall, opening up her distance to it. Again, it turned to face her, pausing as the computer systems analysed tactics.

"She's cracked it," Priss told everyone. "Took her long enough."

It was pretty obvious, once you stepped back and actually looked at it. When the hologram actually attacked, it only ever moved in the direction it was facing. When the hologram punched, it only ever punched in the direction it was moving. And when it punched, it wouldn't change direction until after it had pulled its limbs back into its body. And that took time... enough to keep a good distance from it, so there'd enough time to react to its next attack, or enough time to find an opening to attack back.

If it got too close, the battle would become a tiring scramble just to stay ahead of it, with no chance to fight back... exactly like Nené's first attempt at it.

"All Nené must do is stay on feet to win," I said, beaming.

"And hit her targets," added Linna.

"And not get cocky and get tagged," Priss threw in.

"Yeah but... "

I hadn't the foggiest idea how to finish that one. Sylia quietly managed the controls. It didn't seem to matter to her one jot whether Nené won or not... she just stood there, impassively working. My senses could read the tense excitement pouring off of Linna and Priss... even attenuated by the softsuit covering most of their bodies I could pick it up... but Sylia... Sylia just radiated that same coolly human aura as usual.

Those same analysing eyes, that same gentle smile.

The first target flickered on the crown of the hologram. Nené spotted it instantly. Unaware of its weakness, the hologram charged, punching low for Nené's body. Again, Nené dodged, keeping her eyes fixed dead on the flickering red spot. Turning herself on the ball of her foot, she punched out hard, throwing her entire weight into the strike, her momentum nearly carrying her whole body forwards to follow.

A chirp from the control panels announced her first hit. Two to go.

"She got it dead on," Priss almost didn't believe it.

By my reckoning, she had about 2:10 to get the next two.

As the target pulled away to regroup, Nené was shaking on her feet, her body quivering like jelly in an earthquake. The skin on her face was beginning to blanch as she swallowed hard, fighting to keep something down.

"Two more," she was whispering, "Two more."

I wondered if Priss and Linna weren't beginning to think they'd made a mistake. Me, I could smell the fried steak and onions already. I could taste it... feel the succulent meat dissolving on my tongue. And then I remembered how much my recollections were limited by human senses, and realised how much better it would be with my new senses. I was looking forward to the feeling of hot meat in my mouth, especially with my sexaroid senses.

My appetite instantly vanished.

Again it charged her, not punching, but aiming right for her like a bull, bulldozing her out if its way. She stumbled as she tried to get away from it... it wasn't supposed to do _that... _

No fair! Was written across her features.

"Two minutes," said Sylia once more.

It turned to face, and attacked back, faster than normal, with a left-right combination trying to steer Nené out of the way of one strike, and into the follow-up. Nené didn't fall for it, first ducking under, then dodging in the direction of the first attack.

"Go! Go! Go!" I cheered, banging on the glass, wearing a hungry grin.

"This isn't pro-wrestling." Sylia censured.

Linna and Priss giggled quietly. I suddenly felt like the 4 of us were schoolchildren, and Sylia was the teacher. I shrunk down back towards the wall. The target skirted around Nené, probing lazily back, testing her new-found strength. It tried another quick attack... easily dodged, and the battle continued. Nené was on her lasts legs, her body slouching into a worn stance. She swallowed spit, her whole body shivering.

She'd win her free meal tonight... but she'd die of exertion before she could enjoy it.

Another thirty seconds passed, attack and dodge, attack and dodge, Nené content to play the same waiting game, biding her time until another opening presented itself. Another target presented itself, smack dead centre in the holograms 'chest'. Nené looked like she wanted to scream her tired frustrations right at it. Of all the places it could appear, that had to be the worst. No dodging behind it and attacking the back, she had to take this one head on, stare it right in its non-existent eyes. Judging by the victorious expression shared by Priss and Linna, they'd figured as much themselves.

Nené stood as firm as she could, fixing her eyes on the flashing red target. The hologram moved to attacked, charging forward with another one-two punch. Nené dropped under them, landing clumsily, but still deliberately, one her back. Still focused on the target, she kicked out with a grunt, planting her foot right through it.

Nice one!

Two out of three. 1:15 left.

The hologram pulled back once more, Nené rolling over prone, pushing herself up to her hands and knees. She staggered to her feet, wobbling drunkenly for a second as the hologram spun around to attack once more. Nené yelped as she dropped beneath another punch, pulling herself to her feet just in time to be attacked from behind. Again, she dodged it... just.

"One minute," warned Sylia.

Another attack, followed by another, Nené barely having enough chance to get her bearings before it attacked again, and again, and again. It was grinding down the last of her energy reserves, pushing her back towards the wall. Nobody who was watching said a word.

So close, yet so far?

To lose now? Nené would be gutted to say the least. To die in the last minute of her last chance? Another attack, another dodge... come on Nené, I willed. Bugger the meal, I wanted her to win full stop... it'd be a gut wrenching anti-climax if she didn't. I could feel my body tightening, a sour feeling deep inside like I was watching a real-life Gainax ending.

Another one-two punch and Nené was only a few feet from the far wall. Her eyes darted from side to side, her tired mind struggling to form some sort of an escape plan. Left? Right? The hologram loomed over her. It made its final attack. One left punch through the space which had been occupied by Nené's head... the second through the space that would've been occupied by Nené's head, had she gone the wrong way. She dived to he left, catching herself before she landed on her face. The hologram tried to turn and track her, but she kept ahead of it.

"Thirty seconds," Sylia announced as the final target flickered up, the left shoulder of the hologram.

Nené stopped instantly, diving in the opposite direction. The target reflected in her green eyes as she stared right through it. With one final, heaving cry, she threw herself threw at it, her whole body chasing her right fist. The consoles alarmed, dumping their data once more. Nené landed on the floor with a hard slap, flat on her chest. Her body heaved as she swallowed cool air. The only sound was Nené's gasping breathing as the hologram shimmered into nothing.

"She did it," breathed Priss, her voice disbelieving. Silence for a beat. "Damn it," she grunted, "Now I have to pay for her meal."

Linna just sighed, defeated, "I guess my car can do without that service," she shrugged.

"_Nice one Nené!"_ I cheered, "_You beat level Three!"_

Free meal for me then... which I would've gotten anyway had I not opened my gob... Damn, I got the short end of the stick with this one.

"Good work Nené," Sylia spoke into the microphone, "Are you ready to try level 4?" She was answered by a despairing cry of pain, Nené not even able to summon the strength to raise her arm. "Reflex speed 4.2, score of 10 on level three."

She glanced down at the three of us.

"I think we should help her," said Priss, picking up on Sylia's unspoken command.

Nené's body was shaking as we helped her out, myself and Linna steadying her by each arm, Priss gently easing her forward. She was burning hot, drenched in sweat and radiating fatigue.

"I need a drink," she slurred, stumbling forward. "I need water."

"You can have some tonight," Priss reassured her gently, "You can drink as much as you want."

Nené wasn't even able to cheer, she was focusing her mind just on putting one foot in front of the other, up the stairs and out of the sim-room.

"Good work, Nené," said Sylia, smiling with uncharacteristic brightness, "You can have the rest of the day off."

Her voice sent a chill down my spine.

"Yay," Nené answered lamely.

"You really pushed yourself hard today. I'll have Mackie bring down some sports-drinks and something to eat, if you'd like."

Nené only nodded, barely on her feet despite the three of us holding her up.

"Congratulations," I offered awkwardly.

"Yeah, Good work Nené," Linna whispered, almost ashamed to admit it.

"Thanks," the young woman wheezed as we helped her down onto a small couch that had been set aside. "Never again," she gasped, "Never again."

What could we do but hug her? It was instinct, Priss and Linna starting it, and me deciding to follow, the three of us forming a soothing circle around Nené, almost protecting her. I wondered if they'd do the same for me? They may argue and tease, but they were there for each other when they were needed, to guard and protect in day to day life as much as in hardsuits.

The Japanese word for it was _nakama,_ I think. All for one and one for all musketeer style. And I was a part of this? I could feel the others, their soothing concern for Nené, their warmth, their reassurance, their comfort. My whole body relaxed into the group, bathing in Nené's ecstatic joy. She was too tired to show it, but I could feel it radiating off her, hot and sweet. I used my sexaroid abilities to help Nené relax, holding her gaze with my eyes, fingers brushing soothingly against her body as I helped her lay down... enough to relax her, not get her all worked up again with no chance of 'relief'. It seemed to work. I could do it better if I had more bare skin to work with, and my software suggested a gentle kneading shoulder massage as well, but that wasn't something to do in public.

"Nené, if you'd like I could have Doctor Raven drive you to my penthouse." offered Sylia, "The guest bedroom is available, the showers, and the pool if you'd like to cool off."

She wasn't being aloof or uncaring, she was just being... comfortably distant. I guess in the same way a ship's Captain stays a safe distance from the crew.

"No thanks," Nené smiled back at her, weakly giving her a thumbs-up, "I want to see how well Meg does first."

"We were planning to go back to my place to get ready anyway," Linna continued for her, "All our stuff is in my car."

Part of the group, I thought, savouring that warm and fuzzy feeling deep inside. A reason to be a Knight Saber that didn't come machined out of steel and ceramic. I didn't have that many friends... I'd only been in Megatokyo just over a month or so... but even still, my official friend count was Linna and Nené, and that was it.

It was nice to belong to something,

Sylia put an end to my thoughts. "Meg, if you'd like to step into the simulation room."

The door was open and waiting for me. Mackie arrived with Nené's drinks. I caught Sylia glancing up at the camera as he passed, focusing his own eyes down on the bottle and glass he was carrying. There was that same little spark of attraction, but it guttered and died just as quickly as before.

I recited my favourite prayer. "Oh Lord, please don't let me fuck up."

The little evil voice inside me reminded me of how badly I had fucked up last time I'd used it. Maybe He was too busy causing a plague in Africa, or helping a GENOM executive make more money that first night, whose to say he wasn't listening now? Nené giggled as I entered a surprisingly arctic room. Despite the air con, it still smelled of sweat, determination and desperation.

My turn.

I didn't feel nervous, as such. I knew I could beat Nené's score. I knew I was programmed to do this, in case somebody decided they wanted root access without the right password, and weren't going to be nice about it.

I loved that pun.

I wasn't very keen on what it implied, but in my own opinion, it bridged my artificial nature and intended functions beautifully.

"Meg, level one is just a sandbox, where you can learn the rules of the simulation and warm up."

Inside the sim-room, Sylia's voice seemed to boom from the walls, painfully loud. No, I wasn't nervous... not one little bit... not at all. No nerves at all. I wasn't shivering, it was just a chill from the air con. This is something I know I can do...

"The simulation will start now. Avoid contact with the hologram, except for any highlighted targets. Targets will highlight red briefly."

There were more rules, but I'd pretty much picked them up from watching Nené, and what Linna'd told me.

"Got it," I nodded.

The hologram shimmered into view in front of me, two metres away, hovering in mid air. My body took over, relaxing into a fighting stance I didn't understand, but I knew I could use. I took a deep breath of cold air, took a quick look over my body to make sure I wasn't going to faint out of this, and went for it.

I made it to Level 5... scoring a 5.8, with a reflex speed of 6.9, only being beaten by a dirty digital trick, as some random number generator inside the computers went outside its normal range.

Nené hated me for it. I guess she kind of had her hopes up that beating level 3 would keep her off the bottom for a few weeks while I got up to speed.

That took about twenty minutes all told. I was hot and sweaty, but still fresh enough to keep going with a treadmill run, and some weight testing. By the end of that, I was still on my feet, but starting to suffer, my body demanding more food, or sugary drinks to make up for lost stores. There were a few warnings, that I was getting close to the limits of what my body's energy reserves could supply, but they weren't urgent... not like last week on the stage when I'd pretty much passed out after an hour.

A bottle of _Fresh C_ energy drink and I was fine... except for a slight headache thanks to my electrolytes going wonky again.

I peeled my own softsuit off, while Priss and Linna did their best to figure out how they were going to afford this. Nené seemed to be standing a foot taller, something no-one questioned her right to do tonight. It might've been my first training day, but it was Nené's night. And she was swimming in it, soaking herself in the warm afterglow of victory.

"Meg, can I see you for a few minutes," requested Sylia, just as I was getting my boots on.

"We'll wait in the car," Linna told me, just as she disappeared into the closet with a giddy Nené, who was babbling out a list of expensive foods.

They'd better, otherwise I'd have to walk to Linna's place.

"Catch you later."

The door closed, leaving me alone with Sylia.

"There are some more things I need to talk to you about, things I'd rather not risk the others overhearing," She made a specific point to hide the little black camera.

"Is this about me being a boomer?"

"No," she shook her head, the air-conditioning sending a cold chill through my body, "If that becomes known, it can be dealt with. They trust me enough to understand why I withheld the truth."

I wasn't so sure... this wasn't just you're regular secret identity. They might've trusted Sylia enough, but what about me?

We all have our secrets," she smiled reassuringly, "many of which weren't shown or even hinted at in those OVA's."

I gave a nervous laugh "But none as big as mine."

"Perhaps not," For an instant, her eyes took one a sinister glimmer, one which set suspicious gears turning in my mind, "If you're discovered, you're discovered. It means I take a stiff fine for not registering you, get your paperwork in order, and you start working for me as a boomer."

Glad to see she wasn't too worried about it... yeah right. If I get caught, the _least_ that happens is I lose my freedom. Which lead to a little question that had been bothering me.

"Why didn't you just do that in the first place? Why did you let me... um... not be property?"

Proof that my English was often as bad as my Japanese, especially when I change tack halfway.

"Because I have no need for a sexaroid," Sylia answered with an _almost_ playful smile. I wasn't sure whether she meant that as a joke, or not. There was a certain subtext to it alright, and if I'd been in a more mischievous mood I might've considered actually pointing out that nobody _needs _a sexaroid, but there were plenty of people who could do with one nonetheless.

Dirty thoughts had no place in a serious conversation. Yeah, she probably meant that straight up.

"Also, I think this option was the easiest for all concerned," she finished, adjusting her jacket.

That probably wasn't the entire reason... with Sylia's mind I never could tell... but it was reason enough. To keep me as property would've required registration fees, licensing, food and board, and she would have had to have been responsible for my psychological and mental well-being as well... which if I was treated as a slave, would've gone through the floor.

"Thanks, I guess," I breathed, a little disturbed by just how easily I could've been nothing more than a tool. Frakkin' toaster. I'd go stark raving mad pretty bloody quickly if people started treating me like an emotionless appliance.

Easiest option alright... she didn't have to deal with me slowly going mad, and I didn't have to deal with her trying to control me... and neither of us would have to clear up the mess afterwards.

"But, this is not why I asked you to stay behind, Meg." Sylia dragged the conversation back to where she wanted it. "I want to ask you to do something. I want to ask you not to directly use any knowledge of Bubblegum Crisis, without my permission."

What? I blinked. "I thought the whole point of me being here was so I could do that?"

Here, as in a member of the Knight Sabers, and still living in Megatokyo.

She nodded, "Yes. This is a real world, Meg, as I said earlier, with real consequences due to our actions."

"I understand that, but... "

Anri and Sylvie, what do I do if I meet them? Sho's mother? Or the fact the Gibson was rebuilding his Griffon just upstairs.

"Or inactions," she cut me off, "If you use your knowledge to make assumptions, that 'everything will turn out okay' at the end of this episode, you breed complacency, a complacency that may well prove disastrous. Just because Mason was defeated in the OVA, or Largo for that matter, doesn't mean we are guaranteed to win if we do nothing different. Also, the 'future' as shown has already been changed. Irene lived, and if what you told me about OVA 7 is true, then there is no reason for her sister's revenge."

That thought never even crossed my mind.

"I want you to promise me that whatever happens, you will deal with events as they come to you, as if you knew as much about the future to come as Priss, Linna or Nené."

I.e., that tomorrow will be Monday and the day after Tuesday, provided the world hasn't exploded in the meantime.

"But, isn't that sort of... " I didn't know how to say it, even in English. It wasn't a double standard, that was too negative, "I mean, we're planning for Mason already. I am a Knight Saber so we'll"... till felt weird... "be able to surprise him, when he expects only four members. We're using the knowledge from the DVD already."

"True, but they are my plans. I am the leader of the Knight Sabers after all, it is my job to plan for our future, so that we all survive." She smiled warmly at me, trying to break a building tension.

"And mine to follow it, I guess."

She was being delicate, but I picked up on what she wanted me to. She was smarter than me, she was better at contingency planning than me, and if I try and do anything myself, I might get in her way and get someone killed. I'd never even thought about the effect of Irene living.

Again, she nodded, "And I didn't hire you just because of Mason, or your knowledge, I hired you because I thought you would make a good addition to the organisation."

Flattery... works... heh. She knew what to say to make me feel good anyway.

"So, do you promise?"

"I do," I nodded. It wasn't like I really had a choice anyway.

And when I felt good, I was more likely to agree with her.

"Thank you, Meg."

Trust in Sylia, and she will keep you safe. Like a sheep trusting in a shepherd? I wondered in a dark moment. Truth was, she was right... Sylia was better at the whole planning and foresight thing than I'd ever be...

I didn't really think that through though, even as Sylia said she'd see me at the hotel while I waited for the closet-lift, I was still trying to figure out exactly how Sylia saw me. Just another boomer, a sentient life form, or a human trapped in a boomer shell? Why was I even asking that question? She lets me live free, that alone answers the question. She pays me as a Knight Saber. She treats me no different than any other member of the group, no different than made sense because of my 'unique' nature anyway.

It was still hard to shake the feeling that I was hanging off a cliff of freedom, and it was only by Sylia's good will in holding onto my arm, that I didn't fall off, as untrue as it was. She could be cold at times, but she never struck me as a person who would 'own' another sentient being. There were no boomers working in The Silky Doll. The mannequins in the windows were just that... hollow plastic figurines. Sylia, as far as I knew, didn't own any boomers.

Why? When even backwater restaurants had boomer staff?

Human staff as a perception of quality? Did she hate boomers? She didn't hate _me_, at least she didn't seem like she did. It didn't matter whether Sylia saw me as a boomer or not, she saw me as sentient, as an intelligent being, and worthy of the same treatment as any other intelligent being. I think, possibly, she saw boomers as potential lifeforms too, even the real toasters, and she didn't want to be a slave-owner. Which wasn't exactly what I was thinking, but it was how I explained it to myself.

So why didn't she say as much earlier?... because it wasn't what she wanted to talk about... d'uh me.

Sylia only knows why Sylia does what Sylia does.

I just had to hope she never let go of me.

I passed the stripped-back shell of Gibson's Griffon on the way out. Linna's green Renault was parked out front... starter motor chattering away. Nené waved from the passenger window.

The only thing worth worrying about now was 'Rare' or 'Medium'.

-----

Linna's apartment was huge, compared to mine, with a proper living area, a proper kitchen area, a separate bathroom including a real bath and an _actual_ bedroom with bed, wardrobe and everything. As a professional fitness and aerobics instructor, she made a good bit more than I did. Even Priss pulled in a higher salary then I did, and she didn't have to worry about monthly rent with that trailer of hers. But I'll bet she didn't have air conditioning in that old truck. Of course, I still had to find a new apartment that wasn't over an hour's journey from Lady633.

Maybe it would've been easier if I had've been Sylia's cyber-slave after all... Freedom was too much hard work sometimes. It was the same old Linux -v- Mac argument, brought to its real life roots. Of course, the only Mac's left were in a museum after Apple had switched exclusively to personal media. Linux had evolved into HCOS... Hardware Common Operating System onto which each PC vendor added their own extensions. Windows still existed, in it's 13th interation, as a HCOS graphical environment.

The lonely march of progress, something I had plenty of time to reflect one while Nené luxuriated in the bath. Guess whose fault it was that we were a half-hour late for the reservation?

A fifty storey ride in a glass lift straddling the side of the hotel was both breathtaking, and terrifying, a 6-inch thick glass floor not doing much to soothe anyone's vertigo. Linna and Nené were still trying to figure out what they were going to eat, while I'd pressed back against the door, watching Tinsel city display where it had gotten its name from, and trying not to guess how long it would take to hit the ground if the lift fell.

I was still surprised how well I could walk in stilettos. When the doors opened, I strolled into the restaurant, not really too bothered. The carpet was _so _lush, it seemed to melt beneath my feet. The smell... it was like hot roast beef, chicken, Lindbergh cheese and lobster, with added cash.

"Bloody hell."

"Oh wow," Nené agreed with me, "I love this place!"

Her pink skirt ruffled as she bounced in her shoes.

"And it's so much better now that you're not paying," Linna deadpanned, adjusting a strap on her evening dress. Shimmering green satin flowed across her figure, draping below her knees.

Form fitting, gold and strapless, that was the way to go. A single piece yellow number that barely made it to my knees. It demonstrated two things to me... The first, that price was often the inverse of the amount of cloth you actually got, the second that I could wear sexy clothes and not feel like running to the nearest shelter to hide from the staring eyes. It was strangely satisfying, especially that flash of jealousy from the fitness instructor beside me each time somebody took an extra few moments to stare. Sometimes, being the centre of attention was fun, a weird rush of... almost... power.

Poor Nené was stuck in a white blouse and pink skirt... cute mind... especially with those sparkling green eyes of hers.

"Excuse me ladies, do you have a reservation?" enquired the maître d'. He was elderly enough, in an evening suit that seemed too large for him, spoke with a forced French accent to his Japanese... And stared at me first, not Linna, which felt like some perverse form of victory.

Even if I was technically cheating.

"Stingray party," answered Nené

"Ah, Ms. Yamazaki, Romanoff,"... that's how he pronounced it... " and Deckard I presume. Miss Stingray and Asagiri are waiting for you inside, if you'll follow me."

His tone added... 'You're late and holding us up, now hurry up'.

We passed through a set of wooden doors, into a glass-walled room, looking out over the entire city. A long bar ran the length of the inside wall, which was lined with shining mirrors, and expensive spirits. Tokyo was beautiful, red navigation lights on the tops of buildings timing out our strides. The tables hugged the windows, each one dressed in the finest cream linen and glittering silverware. I never felt so perfectly out of place in my life. At one table was a sombre business party, probably greasing the wheels to some multi-billion dollar merger, another might've been a wedding. Money money money, must be funny, in a rich-man's world...

Even if I hated Abba, it was hard not to be awed by the conspicuous wealth on display.

"I feel like Porsche 924 go past 911 GT3."

Nobody got the reference... The cheap shiny model wrapped up in an expensive badge, going past the real thing, repeatedly.

"I'm so out of place," Nené shrunk down into her blouse.

I couldn't wait to see Priss...

"Just around here ladies," indicated the manager with his noticeboard.

Our table looked out over GENOM tower, thousands of little lights winking up its black surface. Sylia sat in an ice-white dress looking at her reflection. Priss wasn't wearing leathers... how disappointing... instead wearing a blood-red dress which was almost a mirror of Linna's.

"Well, you're here at last," Sylia welcomed warmly.

"We would've been here sooner," said Linna, "But _somebody_ took too long to get ready."

She stared down at the pink-haired woman beside her.

"Better late than never. Please, take a seat."

She gestured towards a soft leather bench-style seat... plush and shiny, soft enough to swallow me whole. Priss was already buried in a menu... "I don't think I can afford this stuff," she said to the vinyl-bound video-card. That wasn't my problem. The number of zeroes after each entry was mind-boggling. Who in their right mind would pay 20,000 yen for Wagyū beef? 30K for farm-fresh Whale? They could farm whales? My body however, demanded starch to replenish burned glucose.

Sweetlings... Sweet and Sour beef dumplings on a bed of natural rice. The perfect taste, the perfect fuel for my body. Hot meat, dripping in sauce. Oh yes, Sweetling, you are hot, aren't you? Hot, spicy and succulent...

Chomp.

Delicious.

Made all the sweeter by the fact that I wasn't paying for it.

Why was I in such a damn mischievous mood again? Good food, good wine, and that electrolyte imbalance thanks to the exercise today throwing my hormones out of whack... That, and there was something deeply satisfying about making a real human waiter spill a bottle of expensive red-wine because he was too busy staring into my eyes to watch the glass.

With Sylia in control of my life, it was nice to be able to turn the tables on other random people. I had _some_ power at least, even if it was useless for anything but disturbing innocent randomers. The knowledge that I could go a hell of a lot further than I ever did, or ever wanted to... there was something soothing about it. It wasn't a sexual thing... one of those mental blocks again prevented it from ever being anything like that... It was just reassuring to know that despite being technically a slave, there was some measure of control I had over my own life and over others.

I wonder what would happen if I pushed it on Sylia? God knows I'd never get away with it, but I'd die laughing.

"Well," Sylia decided to interrupt my ponderings, "Tonight, we have two occasions to celebrate."

She took a sip from her glass, as the other women went quiet. Our leader was speaking. This was important.

"Firstly, we are welcoming a new member into our club, Meg Deckard here. Congratulations, Meg," she raised her glass.

"Congratulations!" the others answered, clapping.

I blushed... Dear God I blushed the same colour as Nené's hair. I half hoped they would consume me with a group hug, but a table full of food was in the way. Priss though, seemed almost reluctant to say it... not even making eye contact.

"Meg will be joining us as our defence, demolitions and engineering expert."

"Thanks," I just about managed to squeak out.

"And our permanent designated driver!" Linna barked, gulping down the last of her wine. How many had she had?

"Unfortunately," I sighed, matching her. Social occasions were so much nicer when you could get drunk. Even Sylia was flushed with alcohol fuelled heat, even if she held it better than anyone I knew. Nené was barely sitting up... after a single glass... poor thing. Priss stared into her own reflection, contemplating something only she knew.

"Well, I think we all deserve an acceptance speech," Sylia needled... seeming more human with a little drink taken. She was thawing out, her own natural warmth and grace radiating out from behind her melting business mask.

I couldn't get drunk and lose my inhibitions... given my thoughts about control maybe this had been a deliberate design feature. I stood up, and spoke.

"Thanks," I said again, "It is a pleasure to to be here and meet all nice women like yourself. And... " heroic thing to say?... "After I help with Irene, I want to help more people, to do right like hero."

Bullshit, I could sense someone thinking.

"Well said, Meg," Sylia released me.

The others added their token agreement, while I dropped back onto my seat.

"The second matter. We have a new friend in the Chang group. They have their own grudge against GENOM, and the resources to provide us with backup and technical support, including specialised hardware not normally available to the public."

"And Vision's autograph on my hardsuit forearm!" Cheered Linna.

Nené just rolled her eyes and pouted, while Priss suppressed a flash of frustrated anger.

"Try shouting a little louder," she deadpanned, "GENOM Tower is over three miles away."

I giggled... They trusted me.

"Be that as it may, they have indicated their willingness to hire us in the future. Our performance last Monday greatly impressed them, they also have several contacts within GENOM and other corporations, and they are willing to share them and their information with us. This has been a nice little earner for us indeed."

Nené burped... "Excuse me," she giggled.

Oh to feel that drunk... the only thing I felt was the need to go to the bathroom every 15 minutes. My body had to drain the alcohol out somehow, didn't it?

There was nothing worse than only getting the punchline of Priss' favourite boomer joke, or missing out on a good chunk of a story Linna was telling about her latest boyfriend and his 'unique' hobby. And I got weird looks from the attendant when I cleared my canines into the sink... Perfluorocarbons ruined the taste of wine, too.

But all good things had to come to an end. The bill passed with great pain for those who paid. Sylia and Priss took separate taxis home, while I settled into the driver's seat of Linna's limousine. Rather than driving each and everyone to their home, and Linna having to pick her car up from Yokohama where I lived, the three of us just stayed at Linna's overnight... with one bed for the apartments owner, and a fold out couch shared between myself and Nené.

She was dead to the world with alcoholic tiredness, and I was far too sober and sensible to do anything other than sleep.

It was nice to be trusted, nice to be part of the group. And Nené was lucky, in a way... very few people ever get to sleep with a sexaroid.

Even if that's quite literally exactly what she did.

That, and snore.

-------

"Can you do 30k?" I asked the phone.

"City centre apartment, for 30 thousand, you're having a laugh mate," it answered back. "40 a month and you've got a deal."

Exactly what I wanted. An old trick, beloved of politicians. Offer something twice as bad as you really want, and make them scramble up to the deal and consider themselves lucky to get it.

"Deal!"

"I'll see you next Monday then Ms. Deckard; we can work out the details in my office before you move. Goodbye."

The voice on the other end of the phone cut off, replaced by a single tone. Two weeks after the restaurant, I'd managed to find a place in an old building a ten minute walk from Hot Legs, double that from Sylia's building, and with the possibility of a view over Tokyo bay.

According to the ad in the fax-paper, it was even slightly bigger than my place at Taro. The reason it was so cheap was because the building was four decades old, had originally been built as an office block, and occasionally fell under a flight path into Tokyo airport.

It was the best I could afford.

Now back to work.

Another Wednesday, another Replicants night…. But also another afternoon with nothing at all to do except keep an eye on the same salaryman with his newspaper, run downloads of concert bootlegs off my laptop, and househunt. And considering I'd just finished the last one, it was back to checking on people complaining about compression errors at 320KB/s encoding and slow downloads at 50 megabytes a second. How spoiled they were. I remembered dial-up in 2005.

"Another beer," said newspaper man as I walked past, back to the bar.

I was kind of disappointed he didn't look up at me… especially since I'd made specific point to try and wear something… attractive. For science, of course… or pseudoscience anyway. I wore short shorts, coupled with a low cut blouse that only had three buttons across my boobs, and a bare stomach… Well, science and the fact that the bar always got uncomfortably hot…. At least if I wore something light, I could stay cool. Waiting for me at the bar, were Megatokyo's own Crockett and Tubbs

"Afternoon," I welcomed, feeling the first pangs of fear take hold. Just try relax and act natural…. But not obviously natural because then I'd look like I have something to hide. "What can I get you?"

"Sorry, Meg," Daley shook his head, reaching into his pocket. Oh God no! my mind screamed. "We're here on business," he said, stone-faced. He flashed his identification at me. AD Police Inspector Daley Wong, officer number 644359872a, Boomer Crime division.

Panic flared… I wanted to puke, I wanted to run. I wanted to hold it in just in case they _weren't _after me.

"What business?" I forced out.

He looked to his partner….

"Sorry, got distracted," Leon smirked back at him, winking at me from behind his shades.

"One of these days I may get jealous," he purred.

"Humph," Leon shrugged, flashing his own ID at me. "We're here because of a complaint against this establishment, Miss Deckard."

Leon the cop was terrifying. "Complaint?"

"Yeah, that your bouncers here are being used in a manner they're not licensed or designed for, and that they've used excessive force against a human being."

"Oh…"

Thank you Jesus Christ. They're not here for me. My whole body just relaxed.

"Who made the complaint?"

"We can't say," said Leon. "We just need to talk to the licensed owner of the boomers here, to get this squared away."

"Mister Nakamura not here," I told the truth, "Negotiate with landlord today. Back tomorrow."

"Well, could you show us his licensing then? Do you have a key to his office?"

"Sure," I nodded, locking the register. Cooperation was king…. Cooperation was unsuspicious. Cooperation would keep them from peering too deeply at me.

"Good," He smiled reassuringly at me,

I was going to get a bollicking for this. It didn't matter anyway, I knew our licensing was right… It was just annoying. And bloody terrifying. Who'd made the report? What sort of self righteous asshat would set the police on us and why?

"I know who it was!" I declared to the world, as I fumbled with the locks on the door. "It was Daniel Morrigan. Was it?"

"No," the pair answered quickly… much too quickly.

"He climb on stage and interfere with act." I stated, "Ask to leave. Refuse. Escort out by bouncer same as everyone," I crossed my arms. "He just being asshole because we no let him upstage with his sweetheart."

"We still have to investigate, ma'am," Leon kept it official, the badge on his jacket reflecting the light impressively. "The law is the law, I'm afraid."

Why did he suddenly remind me of Judge Dredd with that?

"Alright," I relented.

The office was small, barely big enough for a desk, a chair, and three large filling cabinets. Next year was the year of the paperless office! Same as this year was last year and last year was the year before that. I rifled through files, carefully reading the two men behind me, for any change… I could feel the pair of them, one broadcasting loud and proud on the testosterone channel, a picture perfect signal of masculinity, the other much cooler and _almost_ feminine but still very male. Three guesses which was which. Nothing I couldn't have figured out just by looking at them, mind.

I scanned for any hint of suspicion, any changes to the atmosphere. Leon flared each time I moved, my own fault for wearing such revealing clothes I guess, but he controlled it well. Daley Wong on the other hand… I sensed a sudden rush of confused… discomfort from him. I guess that was to be expected. My own pheromones hooked into the deepest, most primitive parts of the human brain; underneath a person's own natural desires and preferences. So long as somebody was human and had a working sense of smell, I'd have the same effect on them regardless. If those two men didn't have the power of life and death over me, it might've even been funny, screwing with people's minds being an occasional pastime of mine and all that.

The thing is, Daley would definitely notice… from what I could tell, he had figured something out. A sickening knot of paranoia twisted in my gut. How hard would it be to connect the dots? How long would it take? I swallowed hard, focusing my mind on the task at hand. The pair where still chatting with each other, Daley needling Leon over Priss, and so on… Hurry up! My mind screamed. They were trained boomer investigators, not morons… how long before they could figure me out? I backed everything off to a minimum, but it was still there. Every moment I spent searching was one moment closer to being found out.

They weren't talking about me, they were talking about last nights dinners and Daley's new partner… and not in the police sense. Just two men getting on with a days work, working a simple complaint that normally would've been the job of a low level officer… But since Leon's sweetheart was on tonight they'd decided to take care of it. Just stay calm…. Stay calm…. And be ready to jump through the window. My hands were shaking gently as I pulled the rights files out. I clamped down hard on it. Nothing more suspicious than being nervous around the police, right? Why are you so nervous, miss? Something to hide?

"Got them," I offered the folders, avoiding eye contact… Just in case.

"Can you copy these for us?" Leon requested, while Daley deliberately busied himself.

I did it quickly, three copies of each of the boomers' licensing documents, announcing that they were entitled to use reasonable force in the pursuance of their duties, and capable of doing so correctly by the design, along with a bunch of other legal mumbo jumbo that had to be, and probably was, in good order, or else somebody would get a court appearance and a nasty fine.

"This should be enough," Daley told me, clutching tightly to his professionalism as he thumbed through the files. "Thank you for your time, Miss Deckard."

"One more thing," Leon just had to edge in with… "What time does Priss start tonight?"

"What time does it say on the schedule?" I gave the canned answer

"But what's the _real_ time?" he winked at me through his shades.

"When Priss' friend finished," I whispered, winking back.

I was very careful to select a pronoun to suggest that Priss' friend was male… Japanese was fun that way… she'd probably kill me for suggesting as much if she ever found out. Besides, Priss does have male friends, doesn't she?... the Batty brothers for one thing. That's all I said… Leon just drew his own conclusions. All 2 metres of him deflated down into his shoes.

"Come on, stud," Daley placed a hand on his shoulder, "You know I still love you, don't you?" The two men shared a wry grin, and a deep bond of platonic manliness that somehow smelled like burnt wood and cherries.

"Thanks Meg," said Leon, giving me a toothy smile. "Tell Priss I was asking for her."

"I will."… not. Not if I wanted to live.

They left eventually, taking their files with them. A new name was added to the permaban list, a new face uploaded to the boomers to block, and silence returned. Newspaper man finally got his drink, and the boomers downstairs were setting up the stage for The Replicants, unaware of the trouble caused in their names. I downed a can of energy drink, and did my best to forget about the police. They were gone. The police weren't going to 'retire' me today, I got a new place and my hardsuit will be ready Sunday week. A good day. I adjusted the straps on my brassiere to get a bit more lift, and made sure the tip jar was in a noticeable place.

I wanted to see how much of a difference my choice of clothes made to tips. 3 Replicants concerts in my normal denim wear as a control, 3 in something a little sexier, average the results and call it science.

It'd have to do, _The Replicants_ were moving on to another club soon enough. I was still on edge as the bar began to fill up, the usual afternoon rush filing in. The boomers finished up downstairs, donned their suits, and took their evening place at the door. There were some N-Police in the corner, drinking to a comrades future, three days before his retirement. They were daring retirony to snatch him away. A young woman was shot down in flames trying for a boyfriend... who already had a girlfriend, who herself wasn't actually attracted to him, but only using him to attract other women. _That_ made me laugh...

I was never so glad to be freed from the human condition... I'd deliberately switched off an already simulated sex-drive. I could do it if I wanted to, or more correctly, if my supposed owner decided that he wanted a flame-haired bisexual nymphomaniac to want to. If I had still been human, still been the person I'd been before, I'd probably have blown a gasket of lust at the sight of 4 nubile young women in softsuits, tripped over my own tongue and broken my neck. I'd've been a slave to my hormones, to the desires of parts of the brain which hadn't changed since dinosaurs roamed.

Now though, I was the master...

"Um... excuse me, are you busy ma'am?" a blonde American woman interrupted that train of thought.

Duty calls. And that train of thought was on track towards a dangerous station. But I liked what I was, I thought as I got back to work... Aside from electric paranoia each time I spoke to the police... I liked being a boomer. I liked my senses. I liked my fitness. I liked my body. I liked being a piece of cyberpunk, and I liked not being driven wild by a flood of hormones from deep in my nether regions every five minutes. Clear head, clean body... I loved it. And I could make change with my digital coprocessors while thinking about that.

The tip jar jingled as she dived back into the building crowd with her drinks. No fuller than normal at 7:11:02. It seemed what Isildore had told me was just an urban legend... not quite to the point of myth busted, mind. I thought back to a conversation I'd had with Linna a few weeks earlier... about boyfriends and girlfriends, and 'companionship'. I slept with Nené five days later... literally... 3 people in 2 beds, someone had to share. It was nice to be with someone... and just to be with someone... without the demands of millions of years of biology to get in the way of just lying there. I was part of the group... I was trusted... I was a Knight Saber. And that was far better than drunkenly crawling into bed beside a sozzled Nené... forgetting what happened next... then waking up the next morning with an awkward feeling that would never go away every time we spoke to each other.

It was just nice to be close to another person without worrying about the spider's web of sexuality getting in the bloody way.

8 o'clock passed and still no Priss. _The Replicants_ were here... but no Priss. Odd... Hearing my thoughts, the phone rang up behind me. Expecting the singer herself to be on the other end, I answered quickly. It was probably another boomer. And I'd probably have to fill in... again. At least I wouldn't have to change my clothes.

"Hot Legs Bar and Music club," I answered, "Meg Deckard speaking."

"Meg, it's Batty," the phone answered back, "Has there been any word from Priss?"

I could hear the strain in his voice over the line.

"No," I told him, "I thought you call was her."

"Damn," he growled, "She's costing us so much money from blown shows, if it wasn't for her voice she'd be _gone._"

I heard him sigh.

"I think I know where Priss is," I said. "I'll call someone."

"Thanks." he breathed. "If she doesn't show up in the next half hour, we'll have to figure something else out."

I hung up...

Sylia would know where Priss was. If there was a mission, I wondered why my own pager hadn't signalled up a mission. I might not've had a hardsuit yet, but I was still being kept in the loop about things. I double checked my pager to be sure, while dialling the number for Sylia's penthouse. There were a few people waiting to be served, but this was far more important... The phone rang once, twice... I wondered why Sylia didn't install some sort of mobile phone in her hardsuit, or why very few people actually carried them anymore... three rings... This'd be so much easier if Priss had her own phone... four rings, still no answer, maybe they _were_ on a mission and just forgot to tell me... five r...

"Stingray," a woman's voice answered. Cool, quick, efficient.

"Hi, it's Meg at Hot Legs."

How do I actually say this?

"Oh hello Meg, how are things?"

A polite way of asking 'Why are you calling me?"

"Grand," I said, trying to get to the point, "I am looking for Priss. She due for concert here but no sign of her."

The other end of the line went quiet for a moment, quiet enough to hear the scream of a saw biting into metal in the background. Somehow, I got the feeling Sylia wasn't actually in her penthouse.

"It's Sho," she told me, "She faxed me earlier today to say she was babysitting him, and that she might be unavailable. She may have been held up."

"Sho?" I blurted out... but that...

"Yes," confirmed Sylia, "It means nothing, Priss has been minding him for the last six months."

"Oh... "

I stood dumbly for a second... Well they obviously had to have known each other from before the episode, hadn't they? In reality, it meant nothing then, just a drop of the name to ratchet up the tension.

"There are many things about that were never shown on TV, remember?"

I could almost hear a soft, wry smile on her face as she spoke.

"Yeah," I exhaled into the speaker, before noticing the darkening expression on the faces of customers waiting at the bar, "I am talk later then, Goodbye."

"Goodbye Meg."

We both hung up, and I turned to get back to work. Duty calls and all that. The telephone had other ideas. It rang for a second time.

"Oh could you please serve us _before_ you talk to your girlfriends?" someone in the crowd snarked.

"I'm trying to find Priss," I answered back, handset in hand, "You want concert tonight?"

"We want drinks too," the anonymous voice demanded.

I hate customers sometimes... they have such an irritating sense of entitlement that gets in the way of actually getting important things done.

"Just give me a minute."

I didn't even try to hide my irritation, pressing the handset against my

"Hello," I barked down the line, anger flaring hot. "Hot Legs bar and music club, Meg Deckard speaking," Same canned line as usual.

"Ah, Meg," the headset answered in a familiar voice, "It's Priss. I got held up. Tell the band I'll be there in an hour, Sorry about the delay."

Click... burr... She hung up before I could answer. I sighed again, and turned to faced the angry crowd. There was a small microphone behind the bar for just such an occasion.

"We regret to inform that there will be 1 hour delay starting concert tonight due to circumstances beyond control."

I got the response I expected, anyway. Half the club thought it was my goddamned fault, and insisted on telling me as much... Well, the customer is always right... even when they're wrong. Damn it. Sho's 'appearance' forced another question into my mind. Would my hardsuit be ready on time? That's the thing, he hadn't just appeared, he'd just come to my notice. When a battle boomer went charging through Tinsel City, then I'd know for sure. But would that be tomorrow, a fortnight's time, or sometime next month... or hopefully later.

-----

My new place wasn't exactly what I'd expected. On the 12th floor of a 50 storey building, I think it used to be a small-time lawyer's office. One wall was made of plasterboard, the opposite a solid wall of thick glass mounted in the building's steel frame. The apartment itself was basically one room split up into three partitions by more glass walls, with electric blinds to provide some privacy. The shower/WC were facing but separated from each other by a sliding door, as seemed to be the usual practice in Japan. There was some living space, including some basic appliances, a couch, a spot on the wall to hang a TV and not much else. The bedroom barely deserved the title 'room'... it was literally just enough space for the bed, and a small wardrobe.

I think, in terms of square footage the whole apartment might actually have been a little smaller than Taro... and it still smelled like an office... dry, dusty and stale.

"Nice view," said Linna... who was holding one box of my possessions.

"Yup," I gave a satisfied nod, holding the other box...

Through the window wall was Tokyo bay, glittering in the afternoon sun, filled with ships and boats of all shapes and sizes. Buildings of all sorts lined the waterfront, concrete, glass and steel, throwing dark shadows and sharp reflections on the quays below. Directly opposite, across about a kilometre or so of open water, was Ota Ward, and a wharf on which the sharp eyed, or those with binoculars anyway, could pick out an old truck... with the word 'Priss' spraypainted on the side.

"How did you afford this place?" Linna questioned, stepping slowly around a low mahogany veneered plastic table.

She winced as the scream of a low flying jet passing a few hundred feet over head answered that question. Windows and doors rattled in their frames as it passed, leaving a low, rolling thunder in its wake.

"It does that sometime, when wind is blowing in wrong direction," I said, when the roar had died down. "So say building manager. That third time today, none yesterday."

It didn't really bother me... I'd gotten used to living under an airliner flightpath in my old like... if anything, the occasional jet overhead made this new place feel even more homely and welcoming.

"It's not something I could live with," she said, placing the box on the table. "Especially in the middle of the night."

I just shrugged, "Get used to it. And earplugs." I finished that with a smirk. "Like tea or coffee?" I remembered my manners. I did have a kettle, I did have coffee... I had a 50 percent chance of getting it right.

"Nah, I have to get to work in an hour," she refused with a smile.

I dropped my box down onto the couch. My possessions in this word could fit into a pair of 2 foot cubes... aside from the K100.

"Shame... But I have work too I guess."

Besides, I think my new apartment was too small for a housewarming party anyway... And I had to buy a new TV.

"Goodbye, Meg," Linna gave a soft wave as the door closed behind her.

Another passing airliner punctuated the silence that followed.

It really had once been an office. It had that same office flooring... a hard wearing grey carpet that showed the stains of its past life... I could see the outlines of cubicles and desks bleached in, with plug sockets mounted on the floor.

I could just about make out Priss' trailer sitting in the distance.

Just as Linna's mansion was bigger and better than my little shoebox, so was my little shoebox better than that trailer.

6 days until I got my hardsuit. Still no attack on Sylia's building. Don't tempt fate.

-----

The big day rolled around.

The city was burning under a July sun, but chills still ran through my body when I got off the bus three blocks from Raven's. I'd been training every Sunday for nearly the last month, but I hadn't actually seen the suit yet... it'd been built at Lady633. The Silky Wagon was parked up outside, tink-tinking as it baked in the summer heat. The engine's fan whirred to life as I passed. Gibson's Griffon had disappeared, having been replaced by an old Nissan GTR that was missing its front end. The other Sabers were here, Priss' bike, Nené's scooter and Linna's wagon waiting for their owners in a side alley.

The garage's proprietor was working at a bench inside, behind a Honda Civic, the oily guts of a familiar looking motorcycle engine laid out in front of him.

"I'm here Doc."

"-tor," he finished gruffly, "They're downstairs waiting for you," Raven told me.

"Thanks," I grinned giddily at him, before pausing. "How's the engine coming?"

He sucked a deep breath through his teeth, as all mechanics did before they gave a particularly expensive bill. I steeled myself for the pain to come as he started to stroke his stubbled chin thoughtfully."

"Well," he began, to draw the torture out, "I skimmed the head as far as it could go, but I can't get the compression ratio above 12 to 1... it needs to be at least 15 to 1 to get the best out of gasohol."

Alcohol having a much higher knock resistance than petrol, meaning an alcohol burning engine can run later ignition and a higher compression ratio than a petrol engine, meaning improved thermodynamic efficiency, so more power, more torque and better fuel economy. And gasohol was a tenth the price of petrol.

"So... ?" I almost didn't dare ask.

"So I've ordered a turbocharger," he smirked, "Just to boost torque mind, not overall power. 5 PSI of boost should do for 120Nm of torque, and 100kilowatts."... wow... "But that means a new custom crankshaft, reinforced con-rods, forged pistons, reshaped combustion chambers and that's before the electronics, water and oil pumps, clutch, gearbox and a number of other things."

"Aw shit," I muttered. This was going to be expensive... more expensive than I'd planned on anyway. "How much?"

"At least 750 thousand," he dropped the bomb, "It could go as high as a million. If it wasn't such an old bike, I'd say you'd be better off getting a new one."

"Yeah," I exhaled, sucking on my lips. My KS account would have to cover it... and I'd have to do another mission at least before it could "How long's it going to take?"

"Another three months or so. There's a lot of custom parts I have to get fabricated and tested. But it'll be real special when it's finished."

I nodded gently. "Yeah. Can turbocharger give more than 5PSI, more than 100 horsepower?"

Curiosity demanded an answer... even if I didn't need more than 100-120 horses... even if you never used it, it was still nice to know you had power.

"Kilowatts," he corrected, "That's about 130 horsepower. 130 _kilowatts_ should be doable easily, over 150 for short bursts."

I whistled... "Wow."

"Yup," he smirked at me through that grey pushbroom moustache, "And it will all be controllable by the old choke lever."

He was having fun with this, I could tell.

"I just hope I can afford it when finished," I half laughed... not quite worried, but not quite certain either. How often did KS jobs come along?

"I hope you can too, I don't work for free, haha!" he matched my laugh and I suddenly felt very nervous. "Have fun, Meg."

"I will," I beamed. "You too."

His reply was lost within the scream of a drill.

Three months... just in time to be put away for winter. It didn't seem fair somehow to ride something that special on winter roads, through snow, ice and grit. Poor thing would be eaten alive before the New Year. I practically skipped to the back of the garage, passing the dismantled skeleton of my own bike mounted on a stand on the way. I was swallowing a giggle as I pressed my code into the keypad. It unlocked with a chirp and a metallic click and I stepped inside, trying to be calm and professional about this.

I'd been down here a few times. I'd seen all the Sabers in their own hardsuits before. This wasn't really that different, was it?

My heart was still in my mouth as the lift jolted down.

This was it... final... official... the accolade. 40 million yen of Sylia's own money had been sunk into the new hardsuit... more than a good Italian supercar... Bloody hell. I hope I don't break it, or accidentally trigger one of the suit's weapons and put a hole in something... or someone. Not that anybody would be daft enough to give me live ammo...

I was calmer than I expected to be anyway, aside from a few nervous chills... I was getting used to being around supertech. God forbid being a Knight Saber would ever become routine... Then again, it didn't exactly take forever for me to get used to my new apartment, or living in one of the world's largest and most densely populated cities either. The lift stopped, the door unlocking once more. I adjusted the collar on my jacket, pulled up my jeans, swallowed a gulp of near toxic air thanks to all the detergents, and pushed it open.

"Five thousand, that's the bet!" Priss' voice greeted me.

"Deal," Nené shook on it.

Sylia was just watching on with a dubious look on her face, as if she didn't approve of what'd just happened, but not enough to actually stop it. Linna was standing half naked, half into her innerwear. The exercise equipment was as it always was, and the remains of a packing crate were splintered across the floor... But no hardsuit. I was almost disappointed. I'd built myself up to expect to see it standing their in all it's shining glory, and I was greeted by Linna's firm breasts, and some wooden splinters.

"I'm here," I announced my presence, stepping inside.

A queasy bubble rose up the back of my throat, my stomach gurgling. I swallowed it, same as always.

"Meg, we've been waiting for you," said Sylia.

"Bus in traffic," I explained, a little nervously.

"Well, hurry up, I want to see Meg's suit in action!" Nené weighed in.

Priss snickered behind her hand, giving me a fiendish smirk. Her eyes had a savage gleam to them... It was unsettling... she was plotting something... something involving a bet with Nené. For the sake of my own sanity, I didn't want to know what it was? I mean, what could go wrong with a hardsuit? I didn't dare ask.

"Meg," Sylia grabbed my attention, "Your innerwear is in your locker, your hardsuit is down in the sim-room on its hanger. Linna will show you how to board it properly."

I nodded, barely able to squeak out an "Okay."

The innerwear didn't feel any different to the softsuit used for training… it still had that same tendency to work itself into private places, and the elastic around the neck was positively dangerous when you had the biggest bust in the club. The camera over my locker was gone, replaced by a white stain of polyfilla smeared in place.

This was it.

There was only one more milestone after this, and that was my first mission.

It felt like the first time I put my jacket on, ready to start up a brand-new secondhand Honda Bros I'd bought and go on my first ride. It was the 'one small step one giant leap' sort of threshold to a new stage in life. Or maybe it was just giddiness about cool technology and shiny machines.

"I still remember my first time," Linna invoked a deliberate double entendre with a vulpine smirk. " It was so tight around my body,"

"Hah!" I barked. "Innerwear already take my virginity."

Actually, I genuinely didn't know for sure about it, or really care.

"Hardsuit is more of the same," she reassured me, "Just wait and see."

More of the same? I followed the dancer down into the sim-room, while Priss and Nené exchanged sinister whispers and giggles. Whatever they were doing, they were doing their damnedest to keep it from me. I didn't want to know why. I just wanted to see what was standing hunched under that white sheet beside Linna's open suit. My whole body was tingling, my lips curled up with an expectant smile. The shape beneath the sheet was vaguely humanoid, hunchbacked, but still managing to be nearly as tall as I was.

"Take it off," said Linna.

"Yeah, we want to see what colour you chose," Nené's voice came through the speakers.

Priss watched in silence, an expectant gleam in her eyes. She had something on her mind alright, and it wasn't my good fortune and health. I giggled, taking a firm grip of the cloth. One firm tug and it pulled free, revealing the form beneath.

"Oh wow," I mumbled, sheets dropping at my feet. My whole body went numb as I pressed my hand against the cold metal shoulder. Liquid reflections from the brilliant white lights overhead flowed across the surface of the armour.

It wasn't a projection. It wasn't a mockup. Hanging by its back from some kind of dock, it was solid ceramic and steel, painted in a high-gloss industrial yellow with a shadow grey trim across the chest and hips. It smelled of metal, ozone and machine oil, mixed with a mint detergent. Split wide open, the toes and feet were nothing but bottomless black pits. The helmet was hung off the twin-thruster backpack, a pair of antennae stacked on top of each other, stretching back from above and below where I guessed the right ear was. Opposite them, laser engraved on a plate of shining, polished metal were the words KNIGHT SABERS in a bold black. Across a polished collar, engraved the same way was the word HARDSUIT.

KS corporate branding, (c) Knight Saber holdings 2032, all rights reserved. Because in Corporate 2032, even outlaw vigilantes had their own brand name.

The extended right arm ended in a manipulator claw, with two penny-sized silver barrels built into the palm, the left arm ending in a black glove, with some sort of knuckleguard swung back, pointing towards the elbow. Mounted just below the hips, on both sides, were empty racks, to mount a number of explosive charges.

It was _mine_... sort of.

"Jesus," I said. And that was all I could say for several pregnant seconds.

It stood there, purposeful, sleek aggressive and sexy, even split in two and ready for boarding.

"Nice colour," said Linna.

Yellow... because it suited my cowardly nature, I guess. It also matched my hair, even if nobody would ever see it inside the helmet. Nené gave a thumbs up through the window, and I winked back at her. Priss was waiting, while Sylia worked.

"Just do what I do. Don't push to hard, just let everything slide naturally into place. It's easy," Linna reassured with a warm smile.

Linna placed both hands on the open shoulders of her suit to balance herself, as she stepped over the exposed linear motor track holding both halves together. Toes pointing down, she slid one leg in, followed by the second. Wiggling a little to settle herself, she reached down to the carry handles on the hips and pulled the suit up. Both halves of the thighs sealed tight with a gaseous hiss and a muffled servo whine.

"Remember to push the magic buttons under the handles, or it'll just stay locked, and you won't be able to lift it. Now then, lean forward and arms in."

She did so, sliding both arms down, snuggling her chest into place.

"Hands into the gloves. There's a switch in the right to seal the suit."

Another whine, and the suit snapped her upright, clamping around her neck.

"Just drop the helmet into place, lining up the connectors, and," she pulled her helmet down over her head, taking care to tuck a few stray strands of hair in, "done," she finished, her voice distorted by the helmets modulation.

She flexed her manipulator a few times, steel fingers clacking as they clenched.

"Now you try," the hardsuit said.

"Alright," I peered down into the black voids of the legs... even with the overhead lights, I couldn't see the soles of the boots. Thick red lining reminded me of some animals gaping maw or a...

Dirty thoughts, I sniggered to myself. Support myself on the shoulders... step over the motors... point the toes and slide in. It was tight, yes... but..

"It's cold," I winced, nearly jumping off it.

"The lining acts as a heat sink, and an impact absorber. It takes a few minutes to warm to your body temperature," Sylia informed me, about ten seconds too late, "Just keep going."

"Alright," I said again.

There was no boot, as such... my foot slid down, pointing straight down all the way like a ballerina's. It wasn't even like a pair of stilettos, the foot literally pointed straight down. I slid my second leg in, bubbles of air rasping up from inside as my foot settled snugly into place. Copying Linna, I grabbed both carry handles, searching for a switch with my fingers. Got it. Push it, then pull. The suit clamped down hard around my waist and crotch, arctic gel meeting sensitive skin. I yelped with fright, cold chills shocking through my body. It was like someone had dunked me in iced water.

"Oh, that happened to me the first time," said the hardsuit beside me, "It's sort of a tradition, I guess, to make the rookie suffer as we all did. It's funny."

Is this what Priss had been waiting for?

Her expression hadn't changed... she still wore that same expectant smirk. What could be more terrifying that getting your most private parts compressed in a frozen gel vice? My body was shivering with the cold, with volcanic excitement and tingling apprehension. I slipped my arms down into place, chills shocking though my chest as my body nestled into place. Fingers into gloves, switches to hand. I pushed a button. Click. The suit's motors slammed me upright, body sealing tightly. Servos whirred to life, tendrils of heat fingering their way through power conduits as the suit bootstrapped itself. My breath caught in my throat as I looked down at my armoured form.

"Awesome," I gasped.

I gripped my right hand, staring in amazement at as the claw matched my movement.

"How do you feel?" enquired Sylia.

Invincible, I wanted to say. Cocooned in steel, _nothing _could touch me. It was a dangerous feeling, but I revelled in it. I _knew_ I could take on anything and everything GENOM could throw at me, and walk through it unscathed. And it was so light! I could feel it compressing my body, gel lining flowing around my frame but at the same time there was no sense of wearing heavy armour at all, just an amplified tightness from the softsuit. I felt like I could pull off Bruce Lee style martial arts effortlessly... big high kicks and deft pirouettes through the air before landing gracefully like some iron ballerina. And all this was articulated by a single wobbling sound out my mouth, a little like "uhweeoo."

"I think she likes it," commented Nené with a bubbling giggle.

Is this how battle-boomers feel every day of their... short... lives? Powerful, invulnerable.

"All seals are good, power flow is normal," Sylia's voice was distant, all my attention focused on quantifying the strange feeling of being heavily armoured, without the 'heavy' part.

"Only thing left is the helmet, Meg," said Linna. It was strangely alien to hear her voice coming from inside that armoured shell. With the green armour and almost insectoid helmet with its two razor antennae, it was like listening to a talking praying mantis.

I took the helmet in my armoured hands... it felt like solidified air. My brain was throwing itself through loops trying to understand why something which looked so heavy, should be so light. I was holding a hollow eggshell in my hands, and I was terrified just on gentle squeeze too much and it would crumble into shards.

"A _World of made cardboard and sugarglass or what?"_ I commented under my breath.

"What was that?" asked the dancer beside me.

"Nothing," I dismissed it.

It was power steering for the body, that same feeling of lightness and quick reactions, along with the same woolliness and dulling of feel, an isolation from the world. It only got worse as I pulled the helmet down over my head. My senses compressed down into a small black, sweet vinyl smelling void. I could hear nothing except my own breath, and the rising whir of ventilator fans kicking in, blowing cool, desert-dry air across my shoulders. For an instant, the darkness was pierced only by a single flashing caret, followed by a sudden rush of katakana I couldn't follow. Darkness was pierced by strobing technicolour lights, display screens flickering to life.

A moment later, I was looking at the same white wall as before, overlaid with a green wireframe picking out whatever points the suit's OS found interesting.

Linna was highlighted with a small leader, and the letters "KS-GREEN". Sylia, Nené and Priss where both singled out as humans. I had pitch, roll and attitude displays, a digital compass and map, a small targeting reticle tracking where my right arm was pointing and a simple status display.

10: STL: established: Host: Blacknight:8a2e:370:7334. Signal: 82  
20: Ipconf: 2001:db8:85a3::8a2e:370:7334  
30: Vent: Online. Mode:_positive_  
40: Las: Mode: _cut: _Power: Offline  
50: Thrust: Mode: _offline:_ ERR 221. NoFuel.  
60: : 1759  
70: S-Mine: Rack Empty.  
80: Batt: 20 : 10:15 estimated remaining.  
90: goto: 10

I checked it against what I'd been told was expected. Everything worked as it should.

I turned my head to look at Linna for a moment, HUD highlighting little details about her suit as she walked forward, footsteps tap-tapping across the floor. I could see the whole world frame dragging, my hardsuits' display refreshing too slow to keep up. Details I'd normally have been able to pick out, like the grain of the concrete, or every stray strand of Nené's hair were gone... blurred out of existence by image compression and a screen resolution designed for human eyes. I could see the pixels clearly.

"Knight Yellow, Knight Green, radio check?" Linna's voice boomed into my ears, painfully loud.

"Knight Green, Knight Yellow," I answered unsteadily, "Loud and clear."

"Meg," Sylia spoke again, her voice tinny and distant thanks to the suits own external mics. "I'm going to release the suit from the hanger. Good luck."

Good luck?

I felt the bolts come loose, a quick alarm sounding out to make sure I noticed. For one brief moment I was standing in a vat of slowly warming gels, my body supported by the suit. Eager to test the limits of freedom, I tried to take one step forward. Foot down and... screech! An earsplitting scream of grinding metal resonating through the suit's structure. I felt myself falling backwards before the suit's own stabilisers tried to cut in. I reached vainly out for a handhold that didn't exist, confounding the suits own gyros and making the results sickeningly inevitable.

I braced for a hard impact that never came

With a soft bump as if landing on a mattress, answered by the metallic ring of steel on concrete, I landed on my backside. The shock of the impact rippled around my body, tickling my toes and neck before reflecting back to the ground. I barely felt the hit. I could already hear the laughter as I tried to push myself up to my feet. Shame turned knots in my knots in my stomach, while Linna offered a hand to help me up.

"Bollocks!" I spat into my helmet.

"That's 5000 yen, Nené," I heard Priss' voice bluster, Nené shamefully laughing into her own hand while admitting defeat. I hated Priss for it.

"Everyone falls their first time," Linna reassured my through a private link.

I gave her a sour look, hidden by my visor. Why the hell didn't she bloody warn me?

"Try again, Meg," said Sylia, with enforced serenity. Her voice couldn't fool me.. I'd seen her laugh too. Well, I wasn't going to fall a second time... no way... that would just be pathetic. If I was going to be a Knight Saber, then at least I was going to be half decent at it.

Linna pulled me effortlessly upright with one hand... I couldn't feel her grip. The world had become a strange video game, and I was wearing some sort of force feedback bodysuit like some enveloping Dual-Shock controller.

Shakily, I tried again... It was a little like walking on stilts... everything below the knee was one solid piece of laser-milled armour. My toes were several inches above where the toe of the boot itself was... There was that same feeling of distance even if the high-heeled design was surprisingly stable, once you got the hang of it. I heard the steel ring of my footsteps more than actually feeling them. There was no sense at all of the suit having any weight. Linna escorted me through testing exercises, slowly familiarising me with the suit's responses, as well as breaking in the suit mechanics. Sylia gave instructions, Linna demonstrated, I copied.

"I could die right now and be happy," I said, doing jumping jacks while trying not to hit the ceiling. I really could.

"Don't," ordered Sylia, "Your suit cost too much to build for you to die before completing a mission."

Was that a joke? I glanced at Linna, but the hardsuit just shrugged expressionlessly. I could hear Priss laughing maniacally at _something_, and Nené was squealing something about her wallet being violated. I felt like a real battle machine... I never wanted to take the suit off... Nothing could touch me in here, safe in my metal skin. Seeing myself in a mirror was both creepy, and strangely alluring... Most of all... of all the things I wanted to do with my brand new suit... was wear it to an animé con and call it cosplay. I wanted the whole world to see me wearing it and know that I, Meg Deckard, was a Knight Saber... an armoured superhero of justice and honour.

Sylia of course, might have a few words to say about that mind... probably along the lines of 'You're fired,' followed by a gunshot.

"So, are we doing that Hare and Hounds next week?" Nené's voice enquired, the young woman herself appearing, pink with sweat, and with her hair frizzed and split.

What had she been doing with Priss?

The biker herself appeared moments later, looking oddly satisfied with herself... as if she'd just made a nice amount of money. "Only if you aren't allowed to cheat with your ECM," she said, glaring down at the hacker.

Nené puffed up like a cute, angry pufferfish, "I am entitled to use the systems in my hardsuit as I see fit. Just because you're too much of an apewoman to understand what ECM does."

Priss turned red, "At least my I can get a boyfriend that doesn't require batteries or a network connection."

Linna beside me just sighed, "Always the same when Nené loses a bet," she said through a private channel.

"I have had a real boyfriend!" screeched Nené, staring bloody fury into Priss' eyes.

I got the feeling that everyone else knew otherwise, and were just humouring her by not making a point of it.

"Pinnochio?" Priss stabbed with a Lioness's hungry grin "Only it's not his nose that gets longer when you lie," she twisted the blade, drinking the other woman's suffering.

"Ow," I winced in sympathy. But, better her than me... and I knew better than to get between a Lion and a Zebra.

"It gets old with time," Linna continued through the comm-link. "Nené only ever calls her an apewoman... she's not that good at throwing insults."

"At least I don't ride motorcycles to hide the fact that I can't get a ride anywhere else," Nené brought out her big guns.

Sylia just rolled her eyes and decided not to get involved.

"They're _so_ immature," said Linna, "Nené's only 17, Priss 18,"

"I can tell," I said quietly, afraid they'd hear me despite the soundproofing. "What is hare and hounds anyway?"

I had some idea, of course... somebody playing the hare, being chased by others playing the hounds... but how did that work with hardsuits?

"If we're doing it, you'll see for yourself, it's _real_ fun," I could hear her grinning through the radio.

"So how you feel first time in hardsuit?" I asked Linna... loosing interest in the slagging match above.

The hardsuit beside me dropped into thought.

"It was terrifying," it said softly, "At first. I had so much power at my hands. I thought about those boomeroids of all things, who'd encased their bodies in steel, and then went mad in it." She paused, remembering what I was supposed to be... "no offence Meg,"

"None taken." Well, I wasn't a boomeroid.

"Of course, on my first mission I got stabbed in the stomach. Hardsuits protect against lasers and bullets pretty well, but not an assassin boomer with a sharp knife, disguised as a harmless kid. This might sound weird, but it was such a relief to find I wasn't invincible, that I could still be injured."

The hardsuit looked at me, is if waiting for me to tell her how silly she was being. I thought about it, remembering how Anri stabbed Priss, for some odd reason. I poked at my gut with the manipulator, running the steel claw across the plates, down across my crotch and hips.

"All armour has chinks in it, I guess... "

"Well, now that I've shared mine, how about you share yours?"

That old I show you mine you show me yours thing?

"I felt like battle boomer. Strong and cold and inhuman."

Well, not inhuman exactly...

"Battleboomer?"

Linna sounded almost shocked by the idea. I nodded inside my suit, forgetting that the helmet might not actually match the gesture.

"Even more of machine than I am, I mean."

Stupid! I grimaced inside my helmet, realising what exactly I'd just said. Nervous thrills ran through my body as the hardsuit beside me went silent. Could I really escape with this thing if I had to? I'd certainly have the element of surprise on my side.

"Inhuman? You mean, you don't consider yourself to be human anymore?"

Her voice was soft and subdued... I got the sense she thought she was walking in a verbal minefield. There was a minefield, but it wasn't exactly herself who was walking in it.

"No," I shook my head. I didn't want to lie, but the less I said on it the better. I could hear Linna breathing, slow, controlled into her mic.

"That's... I think that may be dangerous," she said, speaking very carefully, and very politely.

"Well... Am what I am. Not go mad trying to cling to last of something I not have anymore. Still myself, my soul." Still bullshitting, but I had to get out of this before I said something really dumb. "Body is not human... sort of... but still alive inside."

"I see," she said. The hardsuit looked at me, and then up at Priss. "That's your choice I guess, Meg. It's not one I'd want to make," she took a breath, "I guess I can understand. It's not the right one, I mean, you sound like you gave it up so easily, as if it didn't matter to you."

All I could do was shrug, "I just not feel human. Why pretend?. Still me, just in different shell."

"I don't know," she exhaled a long, worried sigh, "If I ever had to be a cyborg," she took a nervous, uncomfortable gulp, "I'd like to think I still had that..em... spark that makes me human. "

"I don't see difference. Body just a shell to hold mind, right?" How do I explain this? "Take 1 litre of water and put into a 1 litre jug. Then put it in a 1litre crystal vase. What has changed except the shape? It is still the same water chemically, still the same amount... nothing about it has changed except container."

Of course I was waffling... and I was smugly satisfied with how well I was doing at it too. My actual opinion of what and who I was, beyond 'Meg Deckard, Knight Saber and sex machine,' was a lot more complex, to the point where actually thinking about it gave me headaches. I was two different people, and both were one at the same time... or something... I was I and that was good enough.

"Not unless some of it gets spilled on the way," she remarked.

"I have... what's the word?" I didn't want to say _soul_ even if that's the way my heart was pointing. "I have intelligence."

"Boomers have intelligence," said Linna, "The high quality ones, you can talk to them, they answer back, they sound intelligent, they look, feel and even smell like a real person, but it's just a copy, a facsimile of humanity turned out on a factory floor. They may be intelligent, but they're still machines, nothing more. Don't call yourself a machine, Meg, you're more than that."

She stabbed me, right in the heart... and she didn't even know it. I wanted to throw that in her face... announce to the entire group what exactly I was and see it on her face when she realised she'd considered a machine an intelligent and human friend... how I'd fooled her and the other Sabers. But I couldn't... I could feel hot tears running down my cheeks, my body shivering. I wanted to throw up inside my helmet. Just a machine...

"Human body also machine," I fell back to the old argument, speaking as seriously as I could,"Biochemical, all thought nothing more than electric signal between synapses... everything humans are nothing more than chemical reaction which exist solely to keep themselves going."

"Humans have soul, have spirit." she paused for a second, thinking about it. "Boomers don't."

"I've a soul," I stated with burning conviction. All pretense of bullshit be damned, I was speaking as a boomer. "I know I think, I know what I am."

And I sounded like I was trying desperately to convince her of that.

"The soul is humanity. You say that you have a soul, if you believe you have that spark, therefore you still have your humanity." Her tone was bright and perky, as if she'd done me a favour by convincing me I was still a human being. "Q.E.D."

I wanted desperately too prove her wrong on that. I knew I had spirit. I knew I was a 33-S. I had once been human, but not anymore. I was a different person than that man, but still the same. I think therefore I am. I am myself, and all that sort of thing. Cogito ergo... something.

"I think a machine can be alive," I told her. "As much as a human."

"Well, if that's your philosophy, then how you feel makes sense I suppose," she shrugged, "Just don't say that to Priss if you want to live."

I could hear the smirk in her voice.

"Priss hate machines, I know," I said. I guessed it was the reason she was so on edge around me, but I couldn't read her mind.

The hardsuit nodded, "It's more than that. Nené tells me that when she got her tech-hair done, Priss wouldn't talk to her for weeks afterwards. It's something from Priss' biker gang days... I think... she places a great value on her humanity."

"I know that."

I remembered what the blue Saber'd said, back in the hospital with Irene a month earlier. Replace any part of your body, and you become something other than human... I suppose she could understand and accept cybernetics by necessity, but I could understand why she'd be so offended by someone voluntarily replacing a piece of their body, or giving up on their humanity entirely. Another person throwing away casually that which she most values about herself? Suddenly, Priss made a lot more sense... Why she''d been so cold and brusque at first, then why she seemed to warm just a little to me when she found out about my bike. Priss called it 'my anchor'. She thought it was something to remind me of my humanity.

Upstairs, she was yelling into Nené's face about buzzing energizer bunnies, while Nené had decided to point out that the only ride Priss ever got was from Mr Kawasaki. Sylia looked like she couldn't decide whether to laugh, or stop it before somebody's hair got pulled. It was infinitely more satisfying to watch those two arguing, than debating the nature of humanity and sentience... that was something Linna and I could definitely agree on. This wasn't the time or place for serious business like that... even if it still stung a little.

We got back to our exercises.

It was only when wearing a hardsuit that you could appreciate Sylia's talents... the attention to the little details. The suit's ventilation didn't roar into the ears. The HUD didn't overload the human brain with information, highlighting anything truly important, like another Saber, either in hardsuit or not. And it really flattered the female figure... partly because Sylia seemed to like to air the fashion designer within whenever possible, and partly because the suits had to be tight to the body, both to make for a smaller target, and so the gel liner could do its job properly.

And once it had had time to adapt to my body shape, and to get some heat into it from the motors and my body, it was pretty bloody comfortable.

"Meg, any malfunctions," enquired Sylia, having used her authority as our absolute leader, along with the threat of cleaning duty, to regain control. Priss and Nené watched on, with expressions like punished children.

"Negative," I announced, chest filling with pride.

"Good," the woman smiled, "Telemetry looks good up here. Signal strength from the innerwear is satisfactory. Pulse decoder response times are within tolerance. Basic functions are all within their normal parameters. Primary systems check out."

"Sweet," I gave a thumbs up back.

"Meg, your hardsuit looks awesome," cheered Nené, pressing against the glass.

"The colour does suit her," a begrudging admission growled over the intercom.

Was that a shot?

"Yeah, it'll make her easier to spot doing hounds and hare next week, right Priss?" Nené joined in.

"There's a reason I chose midnight blue," Priss said.

I had to take this opportunity...

"To hide unflattery figure," I jibed with a savage smirk. It was what everyone else seemed to be doing, even if it was probably suicide. "I choose yellow to show my figure to world," And just to add a final cut, I stretched to the ceiling, throwing my hardsuited figure into a sharp relief under the bright lights.

"Boomers don't care about figure, they'll just see you as a nice, obvious juicy yellow target," she shot back with a smirk. She was smiling, but it wasn't a nice smile. "_Rookie"_

She just had to say it...

"That is true," Sylia took her side... she always seemed to take Priss' side. "You may have a hardsuit Meg, but if we were to put you in the field right now, you'd just be a liability. So, once we've established the functionality of the subsystems tonight, we can begin your training tomorrow. The sooner we get you up to speed the better. It'll make our hare and hounds game next week so much more interesting."

Her tone was cheerful, but I knew the real reason.

I had to rain on her parade, "I have work tomorrow.. I cannot skip work."

"Night work Yes?"

Sylia was wearing that soft, victorious smile of hers. She knew something I didn't.

"Yes," I felt a cold, clammy hand of dread weighing down on my shoulder.

"And your apartment is 20 minutes from Lady633?"

"Yes,"... Oh no...

"Can you make it to the basement under the building for 9am? Since you work in the afternoon, I think three hours a day will do fine, and still give you time to clean up before work."

Nené winced in sympathy.

"Yeah, I can do that," my shoulders drooped.

So that made for four hours of sleep a night... until Brian J. Mason decided to stick his nose in. Priss was loving it... everyone enjoys the suffering of the newbie, don't they?... Linna used a private link to inform me that she'd had to do the same thing, and to wish me luck. I was still running tests on my hardsuit at 11pm that night, when the other Sabers had long gone home.

Welcome to the Knight Sabers.

At least it gave me time to think about Priss, and about my conversations with Linna.

------

It was always hard to hear things like 'stupid boomer', or 'talking toaster', and not get tweaked by it. Then again, I had to remember that even if _I _was intelligent, sentient or whatever word you wanted to use for it, 99.9 percent of boomers out there weren't... underneath all the digital checks and balances, was the equivalent of a rat's brain... according to the web anyway. That was the model 9 AI used in everything from labourers, to waiters, to shop assistants, and was generally characterised as 'frustratingly stupid'... and that was the polite way of saying it.

The thing nobody dared point out, was that humans were judging boomers by human standards. It wasn't something they would really notice themselves… I could question myself about when humans had started becoming 'they', but they certainly weren't 'we'… I wasn't one of them.

When a computer erred, or blatantly refused to make an obvious leap of logic, smart people would understand it was limited, it would usually be forgiven its digital limitations. Accounting consultants never got it, but most intelligent users usually figured out that it was 'just a computer'. It could never Do What I Mean… It would only ever Do What I Say…And people rarely mean what they say.

Cyberdroids on the other hand, _could_ DWIM…To a point. They looked like a person, even the cheap ones crawled zombie-like up out of the depths of the uncanny valley… 2 arms, 2 legs, 2 eyes, plastic hair, a pointy nose and pouty lips through which words came… As far as the deep parts of the human brain, the parts that decide whether something is dinner, or at least suitable as a dinner ingredient, were concerned, it was a human… A really weird one nonetheless, but it fit the pattern. The top of the brain would _know_ it wasn't human, the bottom wouldn't care. Even the deliberate seams on mannequins' faces didn't break the subconscious illusion. It was close enough… closer than a chimpanzee anyway.

And so they judged it by human standards, as an irritatingly stupid human. One with problems that may be contagious, an inferior one to be shunned. And one thing humans can hate more than computers, are 'inferior' humans.

Cyberdroids were stupid... but on a _human_ scale. No-one… except maybe the researchers who'd built them first… seemed to understand that the fact that they _could_ be frustratingly stupid, and try to make leaps of deduction (even if they failed from time to time), put them at a level above pure computers, and that fuzzy logic toaster I'd bought. With computers decisions weren't made so much as determined in advance by somebody sitting at another computer several years before. If, else, or, 10 goto 20 and so on. Provided with something outside this... it just gives up and either crashes, or if the programmer was reasonably good at his job, throws up an error and refuses to do its job.

Even a basic boomer with programmed imperatives, when faced with a problem outside its knowledge could guess at a solution in a way a computer couldn't. And if the solution worked, the boomer would retain it. A robot worker in a café, when faced with a differently shaped teapot that the one it had been programmed to use... it would just try and use it in the same way as the old teapot, and when that failed only realise that it hadn't worked, nothing more. It would never occur to it to change its solution

A boomer would see this new teapot, know what it is meant to do with a teapot and apply the same rules to the new teapot. If its solution worked, it would continue to apply it. If not, it would discard the solution, and generate a new one based upon its experiences with teapots. This gave the basic boomer its big advantage over a robot... a boomer could operate in the real world, with changing, chaotic stimuli, which meant it could take the place of humans doing sometimes very complex, but still menial tasks.

But it wasn't intelligent. It was, at most, instinctive. A rat at most, an ant at the very minimum.

The model 11, which I was built around, was a military design, originally intended for big-steel battleboomers with more sensors than your average battleship. Radar, infrared, microwave, thermal-optics and electromagnetics on the mid-range models even. Battle boomers had to be smart, and they had to be savage... they had to feel pure hatred. That was the big marketing point, the savagery of man's hatred contained in a body bristling with guns. Their brain design was based on that of a human's... only with substantially denser neuron counts to handle all the extra senses. The only real difference being the parts of the brain which held personality and emotion... emotions other than hatred anyway, were replaced by electronics. This left something a little below the level of a dog... but not something anyone without a deathwish would want to pet. It could learn and plan, and it could feel some emotion... but it could never 'think'.

It followed much the same patterns as the type-9's, only it was much smarter, it could leap further.

Show a type-9 that has only known open-spouted teapots a closed bottle and tell it to get the liquid inside the bottle out... without telling it how... and it would have a hard time understanding that it had to open the container first. They were programmed to ask for help when that happened. "I'm sorry, could you show me how?" and variants, had become the new "A problem has been detected and Windows has been shut down to prevent damage to your computer,"... the same groans of frustration ensued.

A battleboomer which has only known teapots, when faced with a closed bottle and told to get the liquid out would guess that it had to open the bottle first. And then probably blow the bottle to pieces. Well, the liquid was out... and that's what you'd told it to do. And for completing the mission you'd given it, it'd be rewarded with a massive rush of endorphin analogues... Because if it feels good to do something, the boomer is far more likely to do it again. Replace the exploding bottle with an exploding man, and you have a recipe for a bloodthirsty monster.

It works for humans too. Make it feel good, and a human will do it… will do it for the sake of doing it and getting that feeling. Some god-awful things have been made to feel good.

And then there was me, and some other android models. Also a model-11, mostly unrestricted and able to enjoy the full gamut of human emotion... the only difference between a sentient android, and an intelligent one were a few programming blocks built deep inside the brain that prevented the intelligent one from ever understanding what it was.

An intelligent android knows it's an android, it doesn't understand anything else, just that it is that thing that must do what its owner tells it. It is never able to question this, it just does. It can pass for human, but it's really just a simulation... and like a simulation, once you knew where to look, you could see just how fake it was.

A sentient android knows it's an android, and comprehends what that means. I could comprehend 'myself', both the boomer, and that person I had once been. I still wasn't exactly sure how to describe that, but I could still think about it... even if I wasn't that good at figuring it out. I did what Sylia told me to, because I _agreed_ to, because I _wanted_ to.

Why would somebody build a sexaroid with free will?

Because an android that obeyed because it knew nothing else was boring... an android that understood it was a slave and obeyed because it had no other choice but to bow to your power... what corporate executive could resist that?

Or for that matter, somebody who stayed with you, because they wanted to be with you...

No, it was probably the first.

The point though, is that the vast majority of boomers really were nothing but emulations of sentience at best. According to GENOM, 408 33-S had been built, and maybe as many again 39-S series 'Corporate secretaries', since production of sexaroids was banned. They stopped when GENOM abandoned biomimetic boomers entirely in 2030.

And that was it.

Maybe 1000 out of however many millions of cyberdroids GENOM had built. Of which less than half remain in service. Linna wasn't wrong when she said that boomers lacked the same spark of intellect as humans. Statistically, she was dead right. It did hurt at first but with mature reflection, all I was, was the exception that proved the rule, and not an exception that was obvious at first glance either.

It was nice to be special.

-----

I watched the news for any battleboomer rampages in Tinsel city. None. A combat boomer tore chunks out of Yokohama, but that was it. 3 ADP killed before the Sabers stopped it. Every morning I got up early, got a nice breakfast from Sylia, got my three hours of training in, got dressed for work, did 12 hours of work for the price of 8, and finally got home at 3am. I was _lucky_ to get four hours sleep out of it.

I learned how to use the laser cannon built into my suit's right arm... its dual barrels could blast a hole in a boomer's head from 100 yards, or be focused into a high powered cutting torch, which could burn through a foot of steel. Sylia called it the one-two cannon, both because of its dual function, and because it worked by firing one shot from one barrel to disrupt the target's armour, followed a hundredth of a second later by another shot, straight through the damaged armour and into the guts of the target.

On my left arm was a handguard which slammed into place like a knuckleduster, shielding the gloved hand from the knucklebombers built into it. 4 shaped charges which fired a jet of hypersonic metal into the face of whatever I decided to punch. If all four triggered at once, I could put a hole through 3 inches of armour and wreak flaming havoc on whatever was within.

And get a third degree burn in the process if I wasn't careful... ouch. It was the only real close combat weapon I had, the laser-cutter took too long to burn through.

My final weapon were the 6 S-mines mounted in racks on my hips. Good for blowing up boomers, blowing down doors, or laying remote detonated booby traps. Dangerous even to a hardsuit that got too close to the explosion.

Additionally, as a last ditch measure, I could remove the right battleglove... which allowed me to manhandle some seriously heavy weaponry... the suit could handle a Browning machine gun the way your average ADP trooper handled his rifle. Of course, I had to give up all pretense of assault capabilities to do it, but in a pinch I could carry some really heavy kit. I could _hold_ ground with fixed booby-traps and serious firepower. Given the right hardware, and the time to prepare, I could defend as well as Priss could assault.

That was my position in the team... blow the hole on the way in, then guard it with my life because it was most likely the way out as well.

I also had the same standard equipment as the other Sabers, an ECCM suite that could handle most basic forms of radio jamming, an emergency ejection system... just in case... and a network hookup to send any intelligence back home to the base covertly. I could jump about 200 yards with the suit's thrusters helping, or up a ten story building from the ground. I could fall and hit the ground at terminal velocity, and the hardsuit would save me, jets and gel lining taking the brunt of the fall.

I spent 3 hours a day for the next 6 days learning how to use all of these abilities without killing myself or another Saber.

There was no hint of Mason doing anything.

There was a mission on Friday... I got the call up while I was at work, but Sylia specifically ordered me to stay at work... My first mission would be against Mason... I was her ace in the hole.

Hare and Hounds was fun... even if I lasted about 10 minutes before being tagged by Sylia... but not before 'killing' Nené. Sylia herself was the only one who 'escaped', managing to kill all four Sabers under Priss' command on the way. The whole point of the exercise was to build teamwork, get the team used to working a member down in an emergency, and get other members used to command and control, in case Sylia herself was taken out.

It was a game of course.

One thing I took from it, apart from a few bruises thanks to an overhead girder I didn't see before jumping, was that if ever somebody went rogue in a hardsuit, it would take a lot of blood to stop them. It would probably be the end of the Knight Sabers, no matter what else happened. That thought lingered much longer than the bruises. It was disturbing to think about treason, especially since they were pretty much the only friends I had. Having a hardsuit was nice, but when I really asked myself what I liked the most, it was the simple fact that I was part of a group.

I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to turn Quisling for GENOM or whoever... I knew I'd give up any chance to go home for the Sabers. Just because I came down with the occasional bout of homesickness didn't mean that, in general I didn't like my life in Megatokyo. Sylia was also very careful to keep us happy... she knew her training was hard on me, especially considering how little sleep I was getting. She offered a healthy breakfast in the morning, tuned for a sexaroid's needs, and after training, she recommended a hot bath, herbal soaps and a starchy lunch.

She made working for her a pleasure. She always asked, she never ordered... she used that old trick beloved of all good leaders of only asking for what she knew she wouldn't be refused. She treated me like a person, even though she knew what I was.

And she prepared a nice little party for us all on the Thursday after Hare and Hounds to celebrate our victory rescuing Irene a month and a half earlier. Because on Thursday, DHK were broadcasting a documentary sponsored by the Chang group, featuring Irene Cann, and exposing the depths of the superboomer project. It was something worth taking a night off for. Good food, good company, GENOM getting a kick in the bollocks in front of millions, it was going to be a wonderful night. Nené got her shift changed, Priss skipped out on a rehearsal and Linna rescheduled a date.

It was going to be a blast...

It was mid-July, and the city had been slowly broiling all day. As night fell, the clouds rolled in, reflecting the lights below, a sickly and bloated blanket over the city. Nights were hot and muggy, the atmosphere constipated with rain that just wouldn't fall. Most people had the good sense to stay indoors, air conditioners behind, TV in front, so the streets were empty. Even the homeless hid from the heat down black alleys. In a jacket and jeans, I was suffering... but it was better to boil beneath the heat than beneath the gaze of passers-by.

I guessed I was about a 5 minute walk from Lady633, with maybe 20 minutes before the program started. 5 minutes until air conditioned bliss.

The first rumble of thunder rolled along the canyon streets, rattling windows and seeming to rise up through the soles of my feet. I gazed up at the sky above, waiting for the storm to finally break. Quickly, I buttoned my jacket up, not wanting to enter the unofficial MegaTokyo wet-T-shirt championships. I passed by a hurrying office-lady in a purple suit and pencil skirt... struggling to get home before the rain. She was broadcasting 'I cheated on my husband and don't want him to know' on all wavelengths, along with undercurrents of mollified frustrations. The scent of shame mixed with post-coital radiance and the sweaty smell of sex hurriedly drowned beneath a litre or two of eau de toilette. It scalded my nostrils, hanging in the still air long after she'd escaped inside some expensive looking apartment block.

Another rumble of thunder, somehow closer. Again, I looked up to the sky.

No change.

I tracked a small swarm of ADP Fire-Bees buzzing overhead. They were in an awful hurry somewhere...

Emphasis on awful.

There was still traffic in the streets, droning past. It wasn't calm as such... a city like Megatokyo is never calm... it was normal. A car pulled up alongside, a dull beige Nissan Saloon. I thought it was just parking up for a second, I didn't actually pay it any attention until until the window rolled down.

"Excuse me miss," called the driver... an elderly man, with thinning hair and soft, honest eyes.

Not again...

"I'm not a fucking Streetwalker!" I screeched back at him, pushing the full force of my fury through my voice. I felt the bolt of shame run through his body, and revelled in it... gotcha.

"Sorry," he blurted, eyes panicking... "I didn't mean... " he stuttered, desperate for any sort of escape. "I mean... " another gasping breath, "I only want directions to Mikado hotel!"

"Oh... " my mouth gaped open stupidly. "Sorry, don't know this part of town," I made a quick excuse before suddenly rushing on.

He grunted and drove off ahead of me, with a sharp squeal of spinning tyres.

Well, I couldn't be blamed for making that assumption... the last five times somebody'd 'stopped for directions', their next question was 'How much for the night?'. It was bloody annoying. I put it out of my mind with a deep breath. Sirens were rising in the distance, wailing through the concrete canyons, rushing in from all around. Police in the city... that wasn't anything unusual... they seemed to be getting closer. Common sense kicked in, and I pressed forward.

Another rumble of thunder, with a kick to the chest as a chaser... The hair on the back of my neck began to prickle, a distant dread rising in the air. Something was _very_ wrong here... I stopped and turned for a second, looking back down the street. Neon lights flickered, advertising a hundred different services. A CGI image who looked something like Lucy Liu gazed down with platonic love from the building opposite, offering a pack of tampons. Another point for the Boomer... I could... and did... disable that 'feature'.

The picture shifted, ersatz Lucy giving way to an old lady, easily 90, introducing us to her home assistant... a gentlemanly cyberdroid who could cook, clean, help her out of the bath and answer the door. A few wisps of greyish smoke were rising lazily up, maybe a kilometre or so away. I watched them curiously, wondering what was burning. Sirens were wailing, rushing towards me, they seemed to be closing in from all sides, rising all around me. Suddenly, they became tremendously loud, wailing painfully in my ears, resonating off the windows and rolling down the street. Turbine engines screamed at a high pitch, stabbing through my eardrums with sonic knives, mixing with the squeal of tortured tyres.

An ADP truck hammered past, engine roaring as it smashed through a parked car as if it was a dinky toy, followed by a second, then a third, being chased by a pair of speeding V8 interceptors. Red, white and blue lights strobed off the surrounding buildings, thousands of windows throwing epileptic reflections into the street, glinting back off the trucks in a cacophony of light and sound. Traffic parted around them like a shoal of fish escaping a charging shark, the curses of the wrecked car's owner lost in the din. A newscopter chopped through the air overhead, cameramen hanging out like 'nam doorgunners shooting the action below. Another ominous rumble of thunder rose through the street… A sooty orange mushroom boiling up in the distance from some building hidden in the city lights.

Oh no, not tonight...

The same unsettling realisation slowly dawned on everyone else around me.

Nobody panicked… terror flared in the air, but nobody bolted and ran screaming. There was nobody banging at locked doors desperate to get inside, nobody bricking in windows to loot while they hand the chance… No 'Oh My God' hysterics. People were afraid… I was afraid… I could feel my whole body going taut with fear… but nobody panicked. Everyone had some idea of what to do… the ADP broadcast a simple ad campaign to tell them.

1: Get indoors and STAY indoors. If caught away from home, enter the NEAREST building.  
2: Do not lock your door. Locked doors do not stop rogue cyberdroids but do PREVENT escape.  
3: If a cyberdroid enters your home, FLEE. If you cannot flee then HIDE within your home.  
4: DO NOT threaten the cyberdroid under ANY circumstances. Remain CALM and non-threatening.  
5: If a family member or work colleague is being assaulted DO NOT assist them. WAIT for the ADPolice.

How many people actually complied with them was a different matter. By rights, I should've ducked right into the _SportsWorld_ beside me and just waited it out... but watching the trucks race away, I guessed whatever was kicking up the fuss was far enough away that it wasn't really my problem. Yet... be careful to add the yet... I'd seen so many disaster films, so many times, where the innocent bystanders ignored the perfectly obvious warnings, then die horribly just to illustrate how evil/dangerous/messy the big-bad is/was/will be.

The Silkydoll was just around the corner, maybe a few minutes away... whatever was growing flaming mushrooms was still about a mile away. It had an armoured basement, with my hardsuit. A little extra risk now, for a lot of safety later. It was the rational choice. Another blast rattled the shutters on the shopfront beside me, disturbing the birds roosting above. Fingers of fear crawled through my body, my mouth going dry.

I started running at an easy jog... just in case.

I was trying not to be too worried... just a boomer rampage... they happen every day in Megatokyo. Literally. It was just an inconvenience... a potentially deadly one... but an inconvenience nonetheless. There were as many boomers as cars in Megatokyo. More people got killed on Tokyo roads annually, than got ripped to bloody shreds by a boomer gone buggo. That's not including Police mind, but the ADP were just '3 Officers killed tonight', ten seconds on a ten minute bulletin.

No wonder the following news item was about a drop in ADP recruitment levels.

People were starting to scatter, shop-shutters rolling down. Some were running... I was running... but it was all orderly. Even the tourists knew what to do... Cyberdroids weren't just a Megatokyo phenomenon. And I probably should've worn a bra, but it was laundry day and a tank-top seemed appealing. I hadn't expected to run anywhere. Explosions rolled up behind me, rapidly gaining ground... I put all thoughts of GAINAX animé out of my head and bolted for it. There was discomfort, and there was death barrelling up behind.

I chose to deal with the discomfort... it felt like my chest was tearing itself free with each step... but it was better than getting my arms torn free by a bloody minded battleboomer. Around the corner, glancing at a homeless man ducking inside an upmarket tailor's before the shutters came down. That was the rule. And it was the law. You didn't lock people out unless you weren't present on your premises. The bum was pushed out swearing, cursing the owner to a horrible death.

Or you had the money to pay the fine, and the good luck not to have the person torn to shreds at your doorway.

I kept running. Fear kept me fuelled, but I relished the chance to actually use the skills I'd gained. I wanted to break something that wasn't holographic... I wanted to be in-fucking-vulnerable in the face of the storm rolling in behind. Something else exploded, the shockwave screaming through the air, kicking harder in the chest. I could smell acrid, oily smoke tangled in the breeze, taste its bitter tang on the air. The sirens were getting closer, screaming tones mixed with a strange staccato rattle that reminded me of Halloween fireworks back home. But this was no time for homesickness. I wasn't a moron, I knew what those were... I just enjoyed deluding myself for a few more seconds...

The same jet engines were howling back up the road, booted feet chasing after them. The fire-bee's were buzzing overhead, pitch and timbre of the sirens changing as the trucks came round the corner behind. Fucking hell they were moving fast.

"Don't look back," I grunted, breathing hard, "Just don't look back."

I didn't want to see what was following me. I didn't want to see it. It wasn't there. Just focus on Lady633, at the end of this street. Keep breathing, keep running...

I loved being a 33-S.

As a human, I'd've been dead on my feet.

Haha, dead on my feet... what a bad choice of words. Just focus on the destination... I'd never think I'd be so desperate to get inside a lingerie shop. I prayed the door was open... it probably was... but it never hurt to ask the Almighty, even if he never listened. White lightning flickered, radiating hot on the back of my neck, illuminating the entire street for a split second. Moments later, an ear splitting crack of thunder flashed through my frame, kicking the wind out of me. Glass rained down from above, mingling with the shouted orders of some sergeant and somebody screaming in pain.

"Don't look back," I snarled, breathing hard. "Don't... look... back!"

I looked back...

One of the trucks was burning, consumed by fire, hot and blue, nothing but a blasted shell remaining. With my senses, I could see black shapes in the cab that might once have been human. ADP officers were picking themselves up, trying to get themselves in order, another truck reversing into place. There was a scream of metal, being torn apart, the burning truck's last tortured cry.

Through the flames, I saw it, lurching forward... a black, humanoid hulk, maybe 10 feet tall... I could see the fires glinting off its lenses, smoke rising from a gun barrel. I was watching an action movie... live and in living colour. And bad special effects. It all looked digital. There wasn't enough smoke. The reflections were... off... How fucking weird. It was obvious what was going to happen to them. I think they knew it too. They turned and fired anyway, a hundred champagne corks popping to celebrate their impending demise. Why weren't they running, falling back? Why were they just standing there, shooting pointlessly at it? Why were they just standing there like lambs to be fucking slaughtered?

I wouldn't have.

Well I knew how this one ended... and it wasn't something I wanted to see. I just kept running. Better them than me. They were just shadows in the fire...

The gunfire stopped.

I heard nothing else above the roar of the fire. I didn't want to know anything else.

The greatest miracle was to burst through the front door of the Silky Doll, and hear it slam shut behind me. The shutters were down on the windows, but Sylia was still standing resolutely behind the counter in an elegant but practical orange dress, a few customers whispering between themselves, underwear in hand. I was shaking like a bloody leaf, my body still jammed on flight. Instinctively, I scanned the shop for a back entrance... another escape. It was so weird. A full blown war film was going on a hundred yards down the road, while in here, there were women shopping for underwear, the air smelled of cherry and calming panpipes were playing through a speaker overhead.

"It must be getting bad outside," one of the women... who was the sheer definition of willowy, despite the best efforts of her powersuit... commented to her friend, another businesswoman with blonde hair, a sharp gaze and an incongruous pair of laced panties in her hands.

"The last time this happened, the police dealt with it in five minutes. It's just annoying is all," her friend shrugged.

"Yeah," Willow woman sighed, "But we could be in a worse place."

She pulled a frilly bra off of a hanger, holding it up with a smirk.

"Ladies," Sylia cut in with a single clap, "I think maybe we should move into the back of the store, just in case."

Her voice was calm and requesting. She still smiled, as if she was offering them a chance to try some 'special' things on in the back, not normally available to general customers. Nobody argued. They were discussing lace patterns and stitching quality, while all holy hell was breaking loose outside. The shutters rattled nervously on their rails.

"It must really be getting rough outside," Sylia said, exhaling. She returned to her post behind the register, as if she was talking about nothing more than a stiff breeze and a few millimetres of rain.

I looked back over my shoulder, past a plastic bust in the window, at the steel grey shutters, waiting for them to smash in through the windows. They rattled, but still refused to budge. My body was hot, fired up and ready to run, artificial muscles twitching... Sylia just stood there, as cool and calm as the air itself. I felt almost travel-sick, brain trying to make sense of the incongruity of inside compared to out. Like sitting still in a car, while watching the world fly past at a hundred miles an hour, two conflicting streams of information which the brain could just not reconcile, so decided that _something_ had to be wrong. My body pulled itself tight, every muscle screaming demands to run. I was charged up like a capacitor, bloated with energy that just wanted nothing more than to vent. Sweat cascaded from my body, exploring crevices and cleavages.

"I think... " I swallowed a calming gulp of air... "I think the episode is starting."

"Step inside, away from the windows," she suggested.

I glanced back again, not quite sure what I was supposed to do or say, or even how I was supposed to say it. There was no sense of urgency, no need to shout, no need to run inside. I brushed past a chromed rack loaded with luscious lingerie. I still didn't get what the point was. I knew which individual items would go together, which would be the sexiest, which would be the cutest, which would be the most elegant and ladylike, and what would be the perfect situation to wear them, except the translucent panties. Still not much I could afford.

Alright, remember why I came here. Not the GENOM exposé... I ran here for two reasons. An armoured bunker, and an armoured hardsuit. I am a Knight Saber.

Knight Sabers fight boomers.

Alright... deep breath. I could feel the weight of responsibility pushing me down. I leant down against the table. Do I really want to fight that black monster solo? And anyways, I think I knew what Sylia's answer would be.

"Should I head downstairs and get ready?"

"No," she shook her head, "It would be impossible to hide the origin of the hardsuit. Our base would be discovered, and broadcast live on television to the entire city."

"Oh... "

Never underestimate Sylia's ability to make you feel stupid. She was looking at a picture so much bigger than mine, I was watching a 12 inch portable, while she had the full 50 inches of widescreen worldview at her disposal.

"Mason has always suspected me as the leader of the Knight Sabers," she said, "Regardless of the DVDs. the technology we use is difficult to hide as anything but my fathers work. He never could prove it however. He may have the power of a GENOM executive, but he is still _only_ an executive. Even GENOM has rules against using company resources for personal vendettas."

"They never seemed so hesitant on TV," I countered. "They went for Irene pretty quickly."

"They knew who she was, what she knew, and were certain that she would expose their project. They feared that she would go to the press and make exactly the sort of exposé DHK are broadcasting tonight. "

Wrong again... and I got the feeling that any argument I gave had already been considered and shot down inside Sylia's mind a long time before I ever thought of it. I sighed... Sylia the chessmaster.

"So he's trying to provoke us then? Attacking to smoke us out of our burrow?" Sylia nodded. It was nice to understand, and nice to be able to demonstrate that I understood, rather than just being a child beneath her intellect. "But there's still the DVDs. Wouldn't they be proof?"

"To Mason maybe, but he is keeping his own secrets from Quincy. Secrets which, if discovered by Quincy, would lead to Mason's employment being terminated with extreme prejudice."

Something about that brought a smile to my face. There was a lot of low hanging fruit to grab, and I wolfed it all down. More than GENOM bureaucracy saved the Sabers. Sylia had dirt on Mason, dirt that prevented him from being direct. Something crashed hard into the shutters, sending a stunned bolt of electricity up my spine. Sylia winced back, proving she was human. I glanced around, seeing a dent in the shuttering, and a crack in one of the windows beneath it.

"I thought that was a boomer for a second," Sylia admitted, almost ashamed.

"Me too." The air conditioning was still blowing cool. I glanced at the dent again, wondering what made it. "Deflector shields holding, Captain."

If I listened, I could still here the staccato bark of gunfire, mixed with a strange, deep pom-pom, that reminded me of someone blowing across the mouth of a jug.

I tuned it out.

"No matter what Mason does, we cannot answer," Sylia returned to the topic at hand,

"Sho?"

I sensed a gentle hint of... shame... I knew what she was going to say, before she said it.

"We can't." she said.

"But," I started... "His mother is going to... "

"Die, I know," Sylia cut me off. She fixed me with a hard stare. "We can't take overt action, we can't risk Mason discovering us, or the fact that we have the same information about the future he does."

I felt horribly guilty. It made sense, that was the hell of it. Her logic was so airtight, so obvious she didn't need to explain it any further. My conscience pricked me in the side, choosing the perfect moment of weakness to attack.

What about the ADPolice officers outside being slaughtered? What's the difference between them and the mother of a boy you never met?

Fuck off, I told it.

It was right of course. She was just another person, no different from those lifeless silhouettes. But that wasn't a thought I wanted to entertain. Sylia took a deep breath, she wasn't liking it either.

"We can't save everyone, Meg," she said, her tone softening. "We can't even try. We try to save everyone, and we will save no one. The longer we live, the longer we can fight, the more lives we save tomorrow, the more lives we can save next month, or next year. If we get ourselves killed, trying to save one person, hundreds will condemned to death with us as GENOM runs unchecked across the world."

Sylia Stingray, always looking at the bigger picture. Together we'd just condemned someone to death.

"Shit," I said.

"That's what the others said when I gave them the same speech," she reassured me, placing a warm hand on my shoulder.

"We have to save ourselves, before we can save others," I summarised for me own benefit.

Sylia nodded gently. I didn't envy her, to have hundreds of these stains on her conscience. At least I could say 'I was only following orders'. Priss on the other hand... if she was standing here, I knew what she would say, she'd raise holy hell and make damn sure she did what was right by her... the rules be damned. I half-wished I was more like here... I might've been able to stand up to Sylia a little better... actually say 'no' once in a while...

"I just don't like the idea of doing nothing... I guess," I rocked back on my heels, glancing at the door. "Can't we at least warn Priss or something? I dunno... " I looked down at my feet, trying to arrange this right, "Tell her to keep her out of the building, or something?"

"I will," she smiled at me. "I cannot be obvious about it, for obvious reasons, but I will try."

She would find a way. She probably already knew how.

"Thank you."

I bowed with gratitude, Japanese style... it seemed the right thing to do.

The whole room seemed to inhale, the air filling with stinging stars of shining glass. Sylia's hair seemed to explode into a static charged afro, her expression frozen into an incongruous electric shock. Flaming, flying panties were reflected in her eyes.

Liar Liar pants on fire. I could've laughed.

The hand of God slammed me hard down onto the counter, face first into register. Something sharp bit through my cheek, the counter's edge kicking me in the stomach. Through blurry eyes, I could see Sylia hanging in the air, looking like a golden angel with her dress billowing under her arms. Everything paused for an instant of clarity, before the room blew out again.

Sylia was thrown towards me, thudding against the counter before falling lifelessly. I was flying... actually flying... looking straight up at the ceiling. I couldn't feel pain, but I knew it was going to hurt. Oh God how I didn't want to land. Please don't hurt. My shoulder exploded in agony as I smashed through the bargain bin, landing face up in a pile of silken delicates. I cried out in pain, someone holding a gas-axe to my shoulder, burning through the core of my body.

There was no bang, no explosion, just a tinkling rain of razor sharp snow.

I wasn't panicking, my brain was still stuck somewhere around Afro-Sylia... And how beautiful the glass snow looked, each one twinkling and twirling in the air like crystal ballerinas. Beautiful silver sparks. The world outside roared into the shopfront, filling it with a scream of burning turbines, then hot sulphurous tang of burning jet fuel, singed silk, oil and the rattle of gunfire. A hundred sirens warbled, wailed and squawked.

"Oh shit," I groaned, trying to orient myself.

So much pain...

My body was desperate for cold air, panting to try and blow out the fire in my shoulder. I screwed my eyes shut, whimpering as shards of glass bit into exposed skin. Fucking hell... oh Holy fuck...

What the hell just happened?

I wanted to panic... I wanted to run, I wanted to do something other than just lying there and picking through a hundred pains inside my body all clamouring for my attention, but I couldn't. The fire was spreading through my chest. I tried to pick myself up again, but the pain was just too much to do anything but lie there and whimper through gritted teeth.

"Meg," I heard a voice. "Meg!"

"Unnghh," I groaned, gasping for air.

"Get behind the... "

What?

A cold, deathly shadow washed over me. A black void of pheromone, of emotion. I turned my head over, coming face to face with a battle-scarred matte-black armoured foot.

Slowly, I looked up, to see a body, bulky and vaguely humanoid, encased in armour plates thicker than my hands, orange hydraulic oil leaking through cracked seams, slashes of silver metal highlighting a hundred or more bullet impacts across its frame. I could see its eyes, nothing but glistening focusing lenses, hidden behind a crazed crystal shield. Sparks spat off its body, gunfire stitching a new line of dents on its surface. It raised its forearm... its right arm ending in a smoking bazooka. I felt sick, watching the ammunition feeds cycle another shell into place.

I had to warn someone... anyone...

"Watch Out!" I screamed, my voice straining as new agonies tore across my chest.

The fire from my shoulder was spreading.

"Pull back!" a woman's voice ordered.

The bazooka fired, a deep thump kicking me in the chest and raising dust from the floor. Something detonated a fraction of a second later, sending a shock through the floor, followed by a hot rush of air like someone'd opened an oven door beside my face. Hot, dry, and stinking of raw diesel oil.

Someone screamed, but they didn't do it for very long. I deliberately decided not to dwell on the implications of that. I had to save my own arse first. Thrusters snapped out of the boomer's calves and back, blued steel nozzles still steaming hot spooling up with a terrible electric whine. A sudden terror flared... I'd be incinerated if I stayed where I was... Shot to pieces if I tried to stand up... Oh fucking hell, and as I got over that, my shoulder reminded me that it was still bloody broken.

Blue lightning arced within the turbines.

Oh bugger this...

Gasping for breath, I pushed myself to my feet with my good hand, sparks of pain shooting. I grimaced, feeling dizzy, teetering on the edge of consciousness. Propping myself against a scorched rack of frilly teddies, I swayed on my feet for a second, before darting for safety behind the register. I could hear the roar building behind me, the heat baking my back... I half tripped, half dived into cover, screaming as my bad arm landed awkwardly.

Something inside popped, snapping disgustingly in my ear.

The heat became unbearable, scalding the back of my jacket. I buried my head under my good hand, in a vain attempt to protect myself. I could feel the skin on the back of my hand begin to burn, heat nipping at any exposed flesh.

Sylia was sitting under her desk, watching me... calm as anything... as if this sort of thing was an everyday occurrence for her. It was... but that didn't suck the strangeness out of her expression either. Her hair was mildly ruffled, and there were some tears in dress, but otherwise... Whatever she said to me was lost as the ceiling crushed down around out, filling the room with a horrendous crumble of falling concrete, squeal of torn steel beams and a hundred other sounds that were washed out and smothered by a suffocating grey cloud of concrete dust.

I screwed my eyes shut waited for that one final crush... the final squeeze and pop as the whole building dropped down on top of me.

It never came.

Cautiously, I opened one eye.

Sylia watched back, ghost-like, covered in dust.

"We have to get to the basement," she repeated what she'd said moments before.

I checked myself over... everything still attached... most things announcing that fact with a hundred new pains. I coughed and spat grey phlegm onto the floor.

"I don't think I can get up," I told her.

I didn't really _want _to either.

"Hurt?"

"Shoulder," I said. "I think I broke it."

I grunted as it bit deep, teeth chewing inside. I could taste blood in my mouth running from some gash in my cheek.

"Give me your hand," she pushed herself to her feet, offering her left hand. Open palmed, almost a smile on her face. Follow me and I'll lead you to your salvation.

Shite, I cursed inwardly.

Well, at least I was getting used to mortal peril. What was this, time number 3? How long before it becomes routine?

"This is going to hurt," I whimpered, offering my good arm.

I wasn't disappointed. I screamed for a second time, being dragged back to my feet in a cloud of dust. Dizzy, half stunned and barely on my feet, I took one quick look at what was left of the shopfront. Most of the front windows were just plain _gone_, shreds of torn cotton and silk drifting on the breeze, smouldering sparks leaving lazy smoke trails through the air like drunken fireflies. Most of what had been the ceiling was now the floor. The din of the ADPolice outside was muted by the drifting dust, flickering lights slicing through, throwing a hundred spinning shadows.

"I feel like shit," I slurred, running fingers through dusty hair.

The firealarm went off, adding its wailing melancholy to the chaos. It was ringing inside my ears, punching against the inside of my head.

Sylia's features hardened to solid granite. "We have to get down to the hardsuit bay."

"I don't think I can fight," I steadied myself against a doorframe, already following her.

"We're not going to fight, we have to warn the others to stay away," she said, her voice like liquid ice. It washed over me like a cold shower, soaking to the skin.

The sprinklers had gone off.

Following Sylia into the backroom, I could feel the building shudder as the boomer went wild, punching through the building's structure. Sylia was watching the ceiling above her, little flakes of paint dropping trails of dust. I could see it on her face... she was worried about the people up there. There was nothing that could be done, though. If you can't flee, then hide... whatever you do, don't try and help someone... those were the rules. No sense getting ourselves hurt running up there, right?

I was already fucking hurt... And as soon as I started thinking about it, the pain stabbed back into my shoulder, letting me know that yes, it was still there, and yes, I was still barely conscious. Dizzy, shivering, but still standing.

"How bad are you?" Sylia asked.

"Bad." That's all I could say.

I could feel the bones grinding, the metal brace holding the joint cutting deep... sawing through flesh. Tears were running down my cheek. I gritted my teeth, trying to swallow it.

Repair time: Negative without assistance, my hardware told me.

The lift was down... _Do not Use in FIRE_ printed in alarming red characters where the floor number normally was. The doors were open, so nobody would be trapped inside it, but it'd go nowhere.

"Feel able to take the stairs?"

"Barely," I grunted, through clenched teeth "I'm not Priss."

I often wondered just what exactly Priss was made of... her body showed scars of some serious punishment. I took another breath, focusing on just moving forward... one step, two step...

"Priss is well used to it," said Sylia, pushing an emergency door open.

I took a few moments to rest against a wall, looking down at my feet. If I really listened hard, above the rattle of machine guns, or the juddering crash of that boomer smashing it's way through the building... I thought I could hear people screaming...

I didn't want to hear that...

Following Sylia down into a darkened stairwell, I felt the anger radiating off her... her face didn't show it, but I could certainly sense it, damped down and smouldering, ready to flare up into a full blown backdraft. It was quieter in the stairwell... but not by much. I could hear voices far above, hysterical, charging down in a flurry of footsteps. I looked up, peering around the staircases...

"People are coming down!" I shouted.

Not many, about five or six if I had to guess.

Sylia looked up, a flash of sheer horror running across her features.

"It's in the apartments," she whispered. She caught herself moments later, her composure slamming down on it like a castle portcullis, "We have to get down."

I stood and watched her for a second.

Sylia was scared...

"Hurry," she barked.

Just grit your teeth and go...

We got down to the parking garage. Quiet, cool. I glanced over the cars themselves, waiting patiently for their owners, oblivious to the carnage above. Sylia's Mercedes smiled, headlights glittering like eyes with reflections from the overhead lights. It had recognised its owner, and wondered if it would go for a drive.

Tonnes of concrete crushed it flat.

I felt the hit in my stomach, followed an instant later by the crash of shattering glass, the hollow rumble of falling concrete and the pained screams of twenty car alarms dying beneath the rubble.

I heard the turbine yowl before I saw it...

"It's... it's looking for the base," I stuttered out, peering through the concrete dust.

Mason was attacking... Mason was attacking us!

"I know," stated Sylia. "We might have to destroy our equipment and make a run for it."

"Oh hell... "

That was like a kick to the stomach.

"We can take our hardsuits and escape to Raven's. We wait for the others, then decide where to go from there."

Priss was going to blame me for this, I was sure of it. That was almost the more horrifying prospect. I glanced over to garage, flames starting to lap under some of the wrecks. A better prospect than staying here if that lot blew... With that thought, something exploded. A hot blast of air picked me up... not again, I whimpered, bracing for the pain... before dropping me half on top of Sylia. My arm went numb... stone cold numb... Was it still there? I panicked for an instant, grasping with my good hand for my shoulder...

Yes, it was. I almost wished it wasn't.

Pain returned with a bang, racing through my body. I grunted, gasping for air. What I got was a mixture of concrete and gasohol fumes, and the whine of strained servos. Two machines were fighting in the smoke, two shadows dancing around each other. A single strobe of light from above highlighted a flash of blue armour, and the letters ADP... brilliant, white... welcome. An ADP battlesuit was fighting the boomer.

"I don't think we want to stay here, Meg," Sylia reminded me where I was... and how she was beneath me.

She was streaked with blood and dirt from a hundred little cuts and scratches, sweat pouring off her body. I rolled off of her, grunting as my shoulder flared once more. Both of us were just lying on the cold concrete.

"I don't think I can get up on my own."

I could barely breath...

"I'll help... " she paused, her whole body straining as it forced down some great pain. "I can stand."

She picked herself up, slowly, shakily, supporting herself with the wall. She was panting hard, fighting back the agony in her body... I could see it... And still she was able to pull me to my feet.

"Thanks," I said, before spitting a black gobbet of concrete dust and smoke onto the ground. "You alright?"

"Just a few bruised ribs," she waved it off, "You're heavier than you look."

"Sorry," I blushed slightly, "I'll try not land on you next time."

She didn't laugh... I did, a hacking, hoarse laugh.

"Lets go," she said.

My first mission in a hardsuit, I thought, and it's the end of the Knight Sabers... or near enough to it. Unless a miracle intervened...

Hello God, you there?

God answered with a third blast, punching into the garage. It kicked me in the back, crushing my body against the wall. Sylia stumbled on her feet, catching herself against the doorhandle.

_Sub-basement access: PRIVATE_, read a small, discreet label.

It popped open, the woman lurching through it. A new stairwell, still lit... just keep going. I can worry later... just keep going. Sylia knew what she was doing. Just follow Sylia... I stopped just inside the doorframe, curiosity demanding I take a look. A shadow loomed in the smoke. I studied it, picking out the details. Boomer? The boomer's bazooka fired, the same hollow thump, followed immediately by a hard metallic crash. I watched as the shadow rushed forwards and through the space I'd been standing in moments earlier.

A K-suit slammed into the wall, crushing and splintering concrete beneath its bulk. The suit was burning, dropping limply to the ground. For a moment, it reminded me of a broken action figure thrown aside by a cruel child, blocky, limp and lifeless. It was burning in the stomach, blue armour dented and scorched, hydraulic oil leaking out. I stood there, enraptured as the boomer loomed out of the shadows, damaged but still standing. One of its arms was missing, bleeding fluids on the ground, but its machine eyes still whirled in their housing, flickering and scanning.

It looked down at its helpless foe, then right at me.

Glass lenses, cold and lifeless... studying me.

I could see my reflection... bloody and battered... staring back at me with wide, terrified eyes.

"Meg!" Sylia called... "Meg!"

"Oh no," I whispered, staring down into the barrel of its gun... an empty black hole that promised an instant and painless death.

That was it... I was done for...

I couldn't run. If I tried to run it would fire. I stood rooted to the spot... frozen...

It still analysed, lenses cycling over, trying to determine if I was a threat. Quietly, I raised my good arm above my head in surrender. An idea... a stupid idea... but a better one than running. Gently, slowly, I lowered myself to my knees. It was instinctive. It won't fire if I don't threaten it.

It looked down at me, kneeling... quirked its 'head' slightly, like a puppy that didn't quite understand what it was seeing. Servos flickered, sensor probes tickling the air. Under its armour, I could see hoses pulsating, cables twitching, artificial sinews tightening.

"Fuck off already," I burred under my breath.

It turned away, satisfied I was harmless. Heavy steel feet thumped on the concrete. I sat there, frozen stiff, just watching as it turned it's back to me, searching for another target.

"Bloody hell," I whispered.

It was bleeding, two smoking holes punched in its back. I could see the machinery inside, clicking, whirring, twisting and reforming Wounded, its stride was heavy and lethargic, feet crunching down. It turned to the downed ADP-K suit, scanning it. Blood-red hydraulic oil was pooling in a slick beneath the wreck... was it oil? The air stank of burning fuel, hot and acrid, stinging the eyes. Another fuel tank burst under the rubble with a dull crump, and a rush of heat. The sprinklers were dead, water pissing uselessly on the ground from broken pipes. Vile black smoke rose through the whole, a cool breeze rushing up behind me, fuelling the building fire.

I just knelt there, watching it inspect the wreck. The suit's machine gun was lying on the ground... it looked to me like a giant grease gun, a broad, barrel shaped body, ending in a snub, narrow muzzle. Exposed circuits on its smashed arm arced, cables twitched. It crouched down on its knees, offering its wounded arm to the weapon. Tendrils lashed out, melting into the gun's case, drawing it slowly up to the shattered stump.

My whole body was shaking as I watched it absorb the grease-gun... I couldn't stand up, I couldn't speak, I could just kneel there, cradling my wounded arm... The only reason I wasn't dead was the idle whim of a machine which concluded that a damaged sexaroid wasn't worth wasting a bullet on.

Another flash spat from the smoke, slamming into the boomer's side, another hot gust of wind washing over me, grit and smoke stinging my face and eyes. The remains of the grease-gun clattered to the ground. The boomer spun about its waist, trying to bring its bazooka to bear on its new attacker.

It failed.

Three more shots punched through its guts, sending plates of red-hot arm scything through the air. Pressing his advantage, the suit's pilot charged forward, crashing his machine hard into the battleboomer, both of them crushing the ruined suit. The pilot grabbed the boomer's gun-arm in one hand, its sensor head in the other and started to pull. Black tendrils snaked along the blue armour, one last desperate gambit by the machine, trying to take control of the K-11. Servos screamed with pain, sparks spitting from joints pushed past their design limits.

With a final, tearing wrench, followed by a bubbling jets of mandarin hydraulic oil, the head of the boomer twisted free like the stalk from an apple, followed moments later by the gun arm. The body spasmed, spurting its vital fluids across the body of the battlesuit. It shuddered, trying to stand up, before the body finally realised it was dead.

The camera lens focused on me for a brief instant... zooming in... before the lights finally went dark.

A strange silence descended, broken only by the distant crackle of the fire, and the whirr of the K-suit's joints. The suit stomped around, checking his wrecked partner first. I leant down against the wall beside me, closing my eyes and thanking God that it was done for. I could just about hear Sylia calling my name, but I didn't care.

3 times lucky. What was the custom in Japan? 4 is death?

"I'm alright," I answered her eventually.

The heat of the blaze started to bake my body, but I was too tired to move.

"What happened?" she enquired.

Her voice was stern, but not accusing. I could see it in her eyes... she'd been afraid I'd been killed. It was nice to know someone cared.

I gestured towards the wrecked battleboomer, still smoking.

"It would've shot me if I ran," I coughed out, "I had to kneel down, and I couldn't stand back up again,"

"I see," she said.

She understood.

"So what now?" I asked.

"I think we should get out of here," she said.

"Ladies," the suit cut in with a distinct, North American twang, "Any of ya hurt at all?"

"We can walk," Sylia answered for the pair of us.

"Well there's medical help up on the street, all courtesy of your friendly neighbourhood Advanced Police."

He was feeling good about himself. And fair fucks to him too. The ADPolice saved the Knight Sabers, wasn't it supposed to be the other way around?

"Thank you," Sylia bowed.

"No problem m'lady, it's what we're here for," the suit returned the bow with a flourish.

I wondered what was so familiar about that for a moment, until I saw the pilot's name and callsign printed under the visor.

For some reason, I started laughing. I was alive.... and the universe had a screwy sense of humour.

"Was it something I said?" wondered the battlesuit.

-----

The cold of the street came as a shock, after the heat inside the building. I sat in the back of an ADP truck opposite Lady633, watching the fire brigade do their job. Lady633 was trashed, and that was being kind... the boomer'd run wild, first charging straight up the rotunda above the entrance to the Silky Doll, before smashing into surrounding offices. Some of them were burning, flames licking out through shattered windows. Smoke billowed under pressure from every open window and vent, the whole building acting as a chimney for the fire in the basement, pulling black smoke up.

Hot, black tea and a blanket, that's all a boomeroid got... anyone else who'd been hurt had long left in an ambulance. Whether they were alive or not I didn't see, the paramedics treated them the same. Death wouldn't be pronounced until they arrived at the hospital.

They were alive leaving the building... that's what I tried to convince myself... nobody was killed. I didn't want to think about that.

Sylia was heaping praise on the ADPolice, thanking them for their help, being careful to level the blame at those who really deserved it. She didn't outright call it a deliberate attack on an innocent businesswoman, but it was easy enough to read beneath the lines. She was tearing shades out of GENOM, all the while being nice, polite and businesslike The networks though, would pick up on what she really meant.

On the other side, the ADP Captain was being interviewed. A one armed woman... Jeena Marceau... she did her best to dodge the questions with a terse 'No comment'. On the subject of casualties, all she said was 'too many'.

I kept thinking about the battleboomer... and why I surrendered to it. The more I thought about it, the more I understood what had happened, and the ADPolice advice. I followed the procedure. I got indoors. I fled when I had to. I tried to save my own life, and I didn't threaten the boomer. I followed the rules. I stayed alive. I wondered about some of the other people in the apartments above... before forcing myself to change track The more I thought about it that way, the more I could relate it to my old job. The more I tried to anyway. Follow the procedures, get the job done, don't get hurt. Don't follow the procedure, the results could be pretty shocking to say the least.

Of course, high-voltage electricity didn't specifically chase after you either.

Best to focus on myself. My boomer systems had kicked in, healing up the damage. The cut on my cheek was nothing but a pink slash now. My shoulder was still a mess, that'd need some help to fix, but boomeroids came almost last on the triage tree... just above boomers. Somebody'd tied it up in a sling to hold it still, and that was it. I was tired, still a little dizzy, but I could walk.

I knew who'd done it... Brian J. Mason... but I didn't feel like I could outright hate him. I was probably supposed to. I was supposed to burn for revenge, and plot a horrible death involving barbed wire and a car's ignition coil. I smiled an ugly smile at that thought, but in truth I didn't really care. Instead, I would go back to my apartment to bed, get some sleep. Hardsuit training tomorrow was obviously cancelled, but depending on how I felt, and what condition my arm was in, I'd go to work and carry on. I was alive. My friends were alive. Thank God for that.

Old bastard came through this once.

Besides, I'd chosen this life... sort of... it wasn't something that had just dropped in on me out of the blue. I wanted to be an armoured vigilante... It was my own choice, and this was just one of the consequences of that choice. I agreed to have GENOM as my enemy, and this was the result. Enemies don't just sit there and let you poke them... this wasn't a video-game set on 'easy'. Didn't mean I felt good about it of course... but I could understand it.

Everything made sense.

This would happen from time to time, it was the price of being a Knight Saber. When you tickle the dragon's tail, sometimes you'll get burned. Sylia'd told me as much.

This is my life now.

I thought I would've been crying in hysterics, or desperate to quit and get as far away from Sylia and her Sabers as possible, but actually, I wanted to keep going forward.

I still wanted to be a Knight Saber.

And anyway, this was small fry. I knew people who'd been through worse... I lived next door to a Polar War veteran who hadn't much left below the waist. Or the ADP veterans association parade a few weeks ago.

"Hey, Meg."

Priss' voice. I looked up from my cup of tea, to see the biker approaching in her leathers, helmet hanging off her arm. "Where's Sylia?"

"Over with television,"I gestured.

She looked up, watching the press scrum for a moment. I saw an electric shudder run through her body, before she turned to face Lady633. She drew a deep breath, watching the flames, watching the water being poured on. The lights on the top floors were still shining bright, the building clinging desperately to life.

"Fucking bastards," she snarled, "And they'll get away with it too!"

I nodded. "Trying to bait us into fighting, Sylia say. We can't answer."

"I know," she growled through clenched teeth, "But that doesn't mean we have to like it. I'll bet they'll offer to buy the building as well, that's how the bastards work,"

"She not sell," I said.

"Of course she won't!" Priss half shouted, "That's not the point. Everybody knows they do it, but all GENOM has to do is outbid your insurance company, and you'll happily sign on the bottom line. Hell, half the buildings here are insured by GENOM owned companies anyway, so the bigwigs just have to lean on 'em to lower their offers a little... and they have you."

"_Real Morton's fuck in the arse, right?_"

Priss might not have understood exactly what I'd said, but she got enough of the gist of it to nod approvingly.

"What happened to your arm?" she asked, still watching the building.

"Dislocated it," I told her. "Have to show to Raven tomorrow to get fixed."

"The wonders of technology," she smirked back at me.

"Yeah," I sighed, flexing my good arm for a moment.

A gleam of inspiration spark in her eyes, a savage reflection of fire and brimstone from the burning backdrop.

"Your body is biomimetic, right?" she asked with a horrible gleam in her eyes. "An imitation of a human body?"

I cautiously nodded. Where was she going with this.

"I've reset a few dislocated bones, let me take... "

"NO!" I recoiled back into the van.

Priss laughed.

"Trust me, I know how to do it."

"Not a chance," I held up my good hand, wincing as another shock of pain thrilled through my body.

"I thought boomeroids could disable their pain sensors at will?"

"Well I can't!... ow... " It bit again.

"We're on the same team, we all have to trust each other."

Funny that, we were teammates only when she had a chance to inflict some pain on me.

"Alright... "I conceded, edging forward towards her. The rubber floor of the van tugged at my jeans, warning me not to, pulling me back, pleading with me to stay inside.

"Just let doctor Asagiri take a look. I _promise_ it won't hurt."

"Yes it will," I grunted through my teeth, feeling her soft hands close on my shoulder. Lightning sparked as she took a firm grip, my body shuddering in sympathy.

"Deep breaths, we'll go on three."

I didn't look at her. I felt tears rolling down my cheeks.

"One... "

Breath in... hold it. Oh God why. Exhale.

"Two... "

Breath in... hold it... exh... SNAP!

I heard it before I felt it. For a brief moment, I wondered what that sound had. It seemed so far away, almost on another planet. Then the pain finally slammed home like a wall of fire, burning through my body, exploding through my mouth. I gulped for air, swallowing hard as the second wave hit home.

"Bloody hell," I grunted, biting down hard on my lips... hard enough to draw blood.

And then, it was gone, dropping down to a dull ache. I was shivering, gasping for air and crying hot tears, but it was gone... more or less. From a hard burn, down to a low smoulder. Hot, but bearable.

"Not so bad, eh?" said Priss.

"You said on_ three,_" I muttered sourly, giver her daggers.

"I lied," she laughed.

"Thanks anyway," I added.

"No problem," she waved it off, "We're teammates."

I flopped back onto the van floor, watching the smoke rise into the night. What a shite day.

At least it was over.

--------------------------------

That's that for now.

Next chapter: Mason pushes harder. A moment when Sylia breaks. A team united together. An assault on The Tower. Mason dies, but that's just the bonus.

Chapter 5: Angels Dancing in the Thrill.

-Dartz


	5. Chapter 5

_Yours Truly, 2032_

Yet another BubbleGum Crisis SI, in the traditional form

Bubblegum Crisis... (c) Artmic/Youmex.  
I'm just borrowing this for a while, for some Fair Deal fun.  
Mmmkay?

Ably preread by Antagonist, with comments and criticism from the denizens of The Fanfiction Forum, .BGCrisis, and elsewhere.

Episode 5: _Angels Dancing in the Thrill_

------

Morning, like any other Friday.

"_Today's main news story," _said the television, _"Hundred's of protesters in New Port City were arrested last night on public order offences. What was a peaceful anti-corporate march quickly descended into chaos as agitators in the crowd assaulted monitoring police forces. Prime Minister Kurotawa condemned the riots as contrary to the public good and promised that public security would be maintained, while those responsible would be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law."_

Pictures of petrol bombs being traded for tear gas played out on-screen.

"_In international news, the death toll from the collapse of the Bay Bridge in San Francisco, California now stands at 253, including 50 children on a school tour. Governor Ford has declared an official day of mourning, though would not be drawn on the issue of the new Norton bridge, which has suffered massive cost overruns and project delays."_

More interviews with survivors followed, along with a press conference with someone from the US National Guard. Outside, the sun was rising over the Tokyo bay. I could hear children running around upstairs, giggling. The air-conditioner rattled to life. The city was slowly coming to life, traffic flooding the streets.

"_5 more UN peacekeepers were killed in Antarctica. The soldiers, identified as being from the 101__st__ Infantry battalion of the Irish Defence Forces, were killed after an icemine detonated under their Piranha armoured transport. UN general secretary Mboto will read a statement to the security council this afternoon."_

I paddled through my apartment, picking up yesterday's clothes, dumping them in the laundry bag. They reeked of smoke, sweat and oil. They weren't torn, with a bit of luck and a lot of detergent, they'd clean up. It was burnable trash day... I'd have to see to that... the new boomers on the job were a lot more regular about meeting their collection times than the old human binmen.

"_In Local news, a rogue battleboomer was intercepted by the ADPolice Last night. 7 troopers have been confirmed dead. The families of the deceased have been informed. No civilians were killed, though 77 have been reported as injured, with 15 in a critical condition. Property damage is estimated at over 100 billion yen. Local business owner Sylia Stingray has vowed to rebuild and return to business, while laying blame squarely at GENOM's door.. GENOM representatives were unavailable for comment."_

It was eerie... watching pictures of the burning Lady633. Sylia was speaking on screen... I'd watched that interview being recorded last night. It was television... but it was somewhere I knew, somewhere I'd been. Television was always so far away, so disconnected, it was hard to see it as reality, even the news. For a second, I thought I saw myself and Priss in the background.

The only evidence I had of the night's activities, after the picture moved on, was the smell on my clothes, and the ache in my shoulder, and the sling my arm was held in.

"_In entertainment news, last night's edition of Primetime Exposure was sensationally cancelled at the last minute due to pressure from within GENOM corporation. The program will be rescheduled to a later date, pending advice from from our legal team."_

Bollox. Just like the Monsanto BGH scandal. Nothing ever changes. That was the real sickener.

GENOM gets away scot-free. Fucking wankers. With any luck, it'd be leaked onto the web somehow. That sort of thing would always ooze out somehow.

I hoped.

I set breakfast boiling, mixing metal supplements into my morning porridge. I could always taste them... even a human would notice if I put too much in... but my body was crying out for the raw elements it needed to heal the damage. If I kept my shoulder in a sling, by tomorrow it would be good as new. I could work one handed for a day.

It still hurt.

I didn't dwell too much on last night, not the boomer anyway, I'd drive myself mad lingering on it. Just put it out of my mind, and try not to picture that smoking barrel larger than my fist pointed at a space between my eyes.

What bugged me, what really bothered me, was what Priss had said to me. Boomeroids can turn off their pain receptors, she wondered why I couldn't, or didn't. The battleboomer itself didn't seem to be in any way bothered by the bullets it took... it knew about them... in the same way a person might be aware of a raindrop on their back, but it kept going right until it broke down. For a boomer waitress, pain was something that happened to humans when you spilled hot coffee on them, a bad outcome, something to avoid causing.

But I could feel pain. Which meant each and every 33S could feel pain. And it wasn't a simulation, not some Terminator signal of damage... it fucking hurt.

If a boomeroid, built on the same basic technology as me but with a human brain, could block pain... then why couldn't I, unless I'd been specifically built _not_ to be able to block it?

Because whoever designed the 33S, wanted it that way. In the great tradition of computing, it wasn't a bug, it was a feature. I was _designed_ to feel pain... A sexaroid whose original purpose of existence was to provide physical pleasure and personal comfort could also feel pain.

I mulled it over in my mind as I swallowed my breakfast, slowly edging towards a disturbing conclusion.

Why would somebody build a human analogue, capable of feeling pain, capable of suffering, capable of understand that what was being done to it was wrong... and knowing that it had to because it was nothing more than property?

Because there are things you can do to a boomer that you could never do to a human being and hope to get away with... the sort of 'things' that not even GENOM would dare try and cover up. Things that caused parents to warn their children not to talk to strangers...

Anything that could be done to a human, could be done to me. People do some pretty goddamned awful things to other people. The difference being a 33S was a machine. Nothing more. You could do just about anything to a machine so long as you owned it.

640 million yen, used of course, and anyone could have one just like me. Their own toy lifeform, to do with as they will, with _nothing_ out of bounds.

I looked down into the bowl. Suddenly, I didn't feel like eating very much.

From the moment I'd arrived in MegaTokyo, I'd been a 33S, I'd been disqualified from the human race somewhere between Home Farm road, and Ikari and 55th, Yokohama. God only knows how that had been done.

If things had worked out differently... if I'd left Irene behind maybe... my life could've been so much different. Compared to other 33S, I was living the good life.

And what does that say about humanity? The first sentient being created by mankind was created for the sole purpose of being sold into slavery, for satisfying the darkest desires of the human heart.

Was the 33S a reflection of the true nature of humanity?

I thought about it. I didn't know.

But if that was human, I wasn't sure I wanted to be one of them again. Since when were humans 'them', then? My friends were human... I didn't forget that. I had been one once.

Had been.

But _I _could do so much harm with my abilities... _If _I wanted to. I could really fuck with people's heads. I could break lifelong relationships with a pheromone sledgehammer. If I really wanted to, I could string people along with promises of sex and rip them off, leaving them unconscious, stripped of clothes, cash and their dignity. Male or female, I could take both.

If I _really_ wanted to, I could have all four Knight Sabers eating out of a goddamned plate. Or eating out of _somewhere_ at any rate. I could make anyone do it.

And why didn't I?

Because I wasn't the sort of fucker that would buy a 33S in the first place. I was so much better than that.

Okay, so I was a little mischievous. But that's different. I never _harmed_ anyone, I just greased the wheels when I had to. Troublemakers left the bar quicker when they lost the ability to hold their drink.

Of course, I had to be careful how I used my abilities... all it took was one smart person to figure me out, and then my freedom was gone.

The Sword of Damocles was forever dangling over my head. But unlike the legendary courtier, at least I had a helmet.

Or a hardsuit.

Anyway, speaking of being free... Freedom wasn't. Bills had to be paid, rent, electricity, water, laundry, anything that could be metered and charged, was in this capital of capitalism. Work started at 2 o'clock, same as always. I could probably skip it, a little bit of sick leave after last night, but I wanted the money and I liked my job.

The time was 08:21:37.

My wristwatch started chirruping... I'd left it beside my bed. I didn't hurry to pick it up, I'd half expected the call anyway. I found the pink watch... the only pink thing I ever wore... under a pair of socks.

The code on the display told me Sylia had called a group meeting.

Well, Knight Saber duties came first.

Get fed, get washed, get dressed, get my arm back in a sling then get to Sylia's place before 9am.

-----

The top two floors of Lady633 were almost undamaged, from the outside at least. The glass was scorched, but it was still in the windows, it still shone in the morning sun. Sylia's penthouse still reflected the streets below.

Morning traffic moved past, snarling and chocking as it diverted around barriers cordoning off half the road. The fire investigators were there, their red car parked up outside, along with a Honda marked as belonging to Recom Insurance, Young's Modular structural Engineering was printed on the side of a white van, and finally, an ADP interceptor.

Working down from the roof, the damage got worse the further down you got. The tower above the entrance was almost gone, most of what was left of it piled in front of what had been the front entrance. Twisted, scorched, covered in shattered glass. The whole path was covered in crystal snow, with black bits of steel jutting out like logs at Christmas. That's what they reminded me of anyway.

The air was still heavy with the smell of combustion, acrid, petroleum and plastic smoke. The shop was gone, more or less. The fire had burned hottest inside the store, being fed through the open garage door below like a blast furnace.

Thick steel I-beams had buckled and sagged under the heat, flames having gnawed and eroded at their strength It was chilling to see... how close the building had been to collapse. If they'd let go, everything above them would've dropped. A bit more heat, a bit more boomer damage...

I think I burned away a lifetime's worth of good luck in one terrifying quarter of an hour.

Well, better use it and live, I guess. A few men in suits, wearing hi-vis jackets and hard hats picked through the wreckage, picking over a twisted girder that lacked the resilience of its friends, taking notes on clipboards. One of them snipped samples of scorched plaster from the failed beam.

They were discussing such minute details as fireproofing thickness, building layout and insulation type, and how to adjust the insurance payout accordingly. Life changing sums of money were being discussed as easily as children talk of pennies.

It was all taped off... CRIME SCENE. DO NOT ENTER printed on yellow tape, typo and all. The garage door was open, as it had been left last night. It was how we'd escaped last night. Inside, I could see the scorched hulks of crushed cars, sorrowful, skeletal remains.

I wondered about their owners.

It was closed off by more tape anyway

The smell of it was pulling me back inside, back to where I'd stood last night, staring helplessly up at boomer, at the mercy of the machine. I shuddered, thinking about how many ways I could've been killed last night.

I blew my fears out between my lips. From now on, my life was going to be one long string of 'could have been killed's'...

I checked the code on my watch to be sure this was the right meeting place. Yup, 9 am, Sylia's penthouse. It was 08:52:27, close enough. Could it have been 9 pm? No... but I was the only one here. No sign of the other Sabers, no bikes or cars.

A Honda scooter burbled up, its rider wearing a teddy-bear backpack, and an open face helmet, and nothing in the way of actually protective gear, just her normal daily... cute... clothes.

The first words out of Nené's mouth were a stunned "My God!" She just sat on her scooter, staring up at the building.

"Hey! Nené!" I called over to her, "You get the call?"

"Yeah but..." her eyes dropped to my right arm, still in a sling, for a moment, before returning to the building, "... it doesn't look like it's here."

I looked up to the undamaged part of the building.

"I did not think so too. But now you here, it mean I not get wrong message."

"I saw the smoke," she said, her voice small and sober, "I was about a mile away when I got stopped at a roadblock." Her expression darkened, "I was worried so I went home and started ringing... em... ," confused, she looked to me, then down at her feet, " Linna faxed me back from her car right away, Priss answered her mobile, even Sylia was able to call back," I felt the sudden surge of anger rushing up, right before she fixed me with a tear-stained glare, "But you turned your fucking phone off!" she screamed. "You scared me shitless! I thought you were dead or in hospital or something until Sylia told me otherwise."

Nené lunged forward, hot tears running down her cheeks... surprised, I backed off. She was attacking me?

"Sorry," I blurted as a 5ft 4 young woman seemed to loom over my head. I held my hands up in guilty surrender.

She clamped onto me, hot and shivering, crying into my chest. She pulled back, suddenly ashamed and confused, glancing quickly around to see who'd been watching...

I stifled a chuckle... she hadn't meant to do that. She was already starting to blush.

"Sorry," I said again, "Battery died so I left on charge before going to Sylia."

"I was really worried," she said, cooling.

The same as she'd've worried about any other member of the team. It was nice to feel part of the group. My thoughts drifted back to my apartment an hour earlier, and I wondered just how much she'd care if she knew what I really was. I squashed those dark thoughts down to the bottom of my mind... now wasn't the time for it.

"I'm glad you're alright," she glanced at my arm, "Almost."

"No big deal," I shrugged, crushing throbs radiating through the bone. "Healed by tomorrow."

"The miracle of science," she winked at me. "I still have aches and pains from a mission we did last week."

I laughed a false laugh.

"We need to find a way in," I changed the subject with all the subtlety of a hammer cracking a nut, "Maybe the fire exit?"

I smirked, appreciating a small amount of irony. I'd escaped through the garage door last night, the fire was so hot , the smoke so black and thick, that getting up to the exit from where we'd been had been impossible. So Sylia'd opened the garage door... and turned a black, choked fire into a roaring firestorm. She knew it would happen, but better that, than suffocating or being roasted alive in an underground oven.

The fire exit was still open. There was no real damage back here, even the lights above were still on. However, everything was coated in a thick layer of black soot. The air was heavy with the stink of damp and flames, puddles of black water pooling on the floor.

It had run down the stairs in rivers.

"Jeez, what a mess," Nené said to herself, peering through into into the front of the shop.

The firedoor separating the shopfront from the exit had held... charred black and spalling off on one side, flames having eroded through door. If that door had burned through...

Another stroke of luck... another disaster narrowly averted. I put it out of my mind, following Megatokyo's cutest ADP member up the stairs.

I placed my hand on a railing slick with greasy soot and water "Ugh."

"This is ruining my favourite dress," Nené complained.

I wiped my hands in my jeans, "Not my problem," I giggled.

"Yeah, if Priss is the Apewoman, you're the Orang-utan," came the answer from above, matched to an impish giggle.

"And you're the little mischief monkey," I laughed after her, chasing her up the stairs. "Orang-Utan good climber, and fire orange hair of flame anger."

"Monkey is fast and smart."

I chased her, laughter echoing around the blackened staircases. It was really no contest. I could run faster, I was fitter. All around, I was just plain built better... the superior model.

Nené lasted 2 flights of stairs, getting as far as the 4th story before she gave up.

"The Orang-utan swings long and easy in trees," I stated, putting on an accent like a wise martial arts master, "Monkey swing quick and tiring."

Nené just coughed, and wiped the sweat off her face with a soot blackened hand.

"Oops," she breathed, realising what exactly she'd done.

I struggled to hold back a smirk... Nené had her own subtle ways of revenge. Subtle like replacing all reference to 'Priss' on Priss' hardsuit's startup routine with Ape-Woman, even the IFF transponder signal.

Did I really want a person who could access my hardware mad at me? Did I really want to wake up one morning after downloading an 'update', and suddenly find I have a mysterious desire to clean Nené's apartment, or wear frilly maid outfits.

Priss could only hurt me physically... but Nené... she was the dangerous one. She could attack the mind. But only if I was stupid enough to let her near me with a LAN cable. Best not risk it.

We kept going. The building was busy still, residents clearing out their homes shuffling around structural engineers arguing about the merits of steel-framed structures, dodging fire inspectors wondering how the fire jumped between properly firestopped floors.

"I wonder what Sylia's apartment will be like."

"A bloody mess probably," I stated, wondering why the firedoor on one floor wouldn't close properly. The frame was bent... the whole building's structure was bent. Hairline cracks traced lightning paths across the walls and floors.

I tapped my foot on the tiles... it felt solid.

"Should people really be in here?" Nené wondered out loud.

I said,"Would be sealed off if not safe."

I glanced down at the soot blackened floor... half expecting to feel it drop from beneath my feet. It _seemed_ solid.

I pushed it far out of my mind. Chasing Nené up the stairs was fun.

The damage wasn't as bad above the fifth floor. Soot stained everything, but it was dry, the fire didn't get much above the third floor, it seemed. More of the building's residents milled about, tired by a sleepless night, blackened by the soot. They were stacking their belongings in boxes, before carrying them downstairs.

"I think I know why Sylia want us," I said quietly.

"Monkeys aren't good at manual labour," complained the pink-haired Saber, "My talents will be wasted carrying boxes."

"Mine too," I exhaled.

Some woman whose business suit might once have been cream white gave us both a look as dirty her black suit.

The air was drier on the top floor, bone dry almost, the same omnipresent black soot hanging smokily in the air. It coated everything like dust, a few traces of hand- and fingerprints.

Nené signed the wall with her own tongue-out caricature, blowing raspberries at anyone on the penthouse floor. If it wasn't for the soot, there was no sign of the damage below. It was eerie. There were bootprints on the ground, heavy industrial treads. The windows were dirty, for a moment reminding me of an abandoned house.

The view outside hadn't changed since the last time I'd been at Sylia's front door. The same traffic sounds from the streets below, the same Lehman Brothers subsidiary staring back. A few employees were standing at their windows, inspecting us... maybe wondering why Lady633 hadn't come down on top of them last night.

"Sylia, it's Nené and Meg, we're here about the underwear damaged in the fire."

Nené used a simple codephrase, properly modified for circumstance, just in case anyone was listening.

"Come in," beckoned Sylia's voice... sounding as if nothing was wrong. Her voice was warm and welcoming... at least for Sylia it was.

Sylia's penthouse was... perfectly normal. The hot smell of combustion still lingered in the air, a draft rising up from the stairs, stirring the dust in the air, pulling it out the open windows.

"You'll have to close the door, I'm trying to keep the soot off," she said. "At least until I can get plastic over everything."

She was smiling faintly, not a single speck of dirt on her. Only a few black boot-prints marred the plush turquoise carpeting. It was eerie, how clean and clear everything was, considering the destruction 20 meters or so below.

"Sis, I can't find the data cartridges," Mackie's voice emanated from a half open doorway.

"They're at Raven's," answered Sylia quickly, before switching back to her main track. "I have tea and a light brunch in the kitchen, while we wait for the others, they should be along shortly."

Ooh... food. Nené's eyes sparked.

We sat down on plastic covered chairs, feeling slightly guilty that we were covering everything in black smut. Sylia didn't seem to mind however.

"So Nené," she started, sipping from a china teacup, "How's your firearm certification coming along?"

Nené herself looked as surprised as I was.

"Fine," she said "I have my Level 2 exam in a fortnight."

"I'm sure you'll pass," Sylia reassured.

That's what we talked about. Not GENOM, not the organisation, not the havoc that had been wreaked upon the building last night, or revenge. Just the same day-to-day business. How were you settling into your apartment, Meg? Fine, fine, a little like a glasshouse in the daytime, but better than my old place. Just normal things like work, life and business.

It never ceased to amaze me how normal and ordinary the Knight Sabers were. As if boomer attacks and near death experiences were just everyday experiences for them...

Which they where.

Linna arrived with a cheery "Hi"... looking as dirty as anyone else who'd climbed that staircase, and the conversation switched to the topic of her latest boyfriend, and how he was different from the last one, and definitely the _one_. Same as all the other ones before him.

"He's a real gearhead," she said, "He says he'll make 600 kilowatts out of a twin-ceramic turbo-piston motorcycle engine."

"It's not Mackie is it?" two voices wondered.

"No," Linna answered with a withering glare, shared equally between myself and Nené.

"What about me?" Sylia's brother wondered.

"Nothing!" Yelled Linna, red-faced. "He's a guy I met at a bar."

"Oh," I chorused with Nené, the pair of us leaning in. We were starving for details.

"We started talking and... "

"And?" Sylia pressed, her curiosity piqued.

"Hey, I'm here," Priss' voice came out of Linna's open mouth.

How did she do that?

"Oh, hey Priss," Nené was the first to realise.

"Hi," I came second, glancing around the singer's body. Priss was standing in the doorway, her red leathers blackened with soot.

"We've been waiting for you," Sylia finished an honourable... and deliberate... third. "Now we can start."

"We found we shared several common interests," Linna spun off the track in flames. Her cheeks heated for a flash before her mind finally got pointing the right direction, "Hi, Priss."

"So, how are we going to strike back, Sylia?" Priss dived right in at the deep end. "I'm ready to kick the corporate butt of whatever dickless brownoser thought this was a good idea."

Priss was pissed. More than usual, it seemed. Sylia exhaled, placing her tea gently down on its saucer. The singer balked, seeing the look in Sylia's eyes harden.

"We can't," she said flatly.

"GENOM knows who we are!" Priss thumped the table, rattling the cutlery.

"They do!" gasped Nené.

"They can't," Linna reassured, glancing between the two women "Can they?"

"The boomer was looking for our base," I stated, "It broke into parking garage and was going down."

Sylia nodded, "That's true. It was looking for our base downstairs."

"Then..." started Priss.

"We do nothing to respond," Sylia slammed down, "GENOM are trying to provoke us. Mason has always suspected me as being involved with this organisation. But he needs to prove it before he can act overtly."

"So we stop him so he doesn't prove it... it's obvious he'll just try this again."

Sylia nodded.

"I agree with Priss," Nené chipped in tentatively, like she was standing on a minefield. "If he's getting this close to us, we should do something to push him away."

She didn't sound too sure of that mind. _Something_ could mean anything from rigging his computer with a nasty virus, to a full blown assault.

"Yeah, but it'd look pretty obvious if we strike back right after he's attacked us," Linna added her 2 cents, "Maybe he's trying to lead us into a trap."

"I think we have important problems before worry about Mason," I tried not to take sides, "Fire damage equipment?"

Priss shot me an angry glare and I shrank down.

"We have to clear sparks from our hair, otherwise we'll catch fire," she said, firmly, "If we take too long to think about it, we won't be able to put it out."

"We can't add fuel to it, either," argued Linna.

"Mason is expecting us to attack," Sylia spoke slowly, with a chilled firmness that froze whatever debate there was, "He will be prepared, and he will be well aware that he has weakened us. He is hoping for us to be rash, trying to force us to panic. We need to be cold. We need to be careful, and we need to move our equipment out of the basement before this building is declared unsafe."

"Think of the 47 Ronin, Priss," Linna added, looking pleased with her own genius, "Had Ōishi led them into an attack immediately, as honour demanded, Kira would've decimated them immediately. He expected them to attack, and was waiting. But they didn't, they stayed undercover, appearing to Kira's spies like they'd stopped caring about revenge. So when they stormed his castle two years later, Kira was taken completely off guard and killed. We wait, and we can catch Mason by surprise at his desk."

Yes, she was proud of herself and her ability to recall her education. And just when you can forget you live in Japan, something uniquely Japanese pops up to remind you.

Priss' reply stalled.

"I read a post on afjp that asked what would've happened if Kira had died 6 months before the attack," Nené piped in, not quite getting the point.

"If Mason dies he save us work," I said. The less I got shot at, the better. I hadn't really gotten the hang of not getting hurt. Little ants still nibbled away inside my shoulder, busily repairing the damage from last night.

"And we loose an opportunity to do more than just settle old scores," Sylia said, calmly. She waited for a few moments, to see if anyone had anything more to add. Silence reigned. "We agree then, we'll wait until the organisation is in a better position to deal with this situation."

That was that, the Knight Saber decision process in action. Do not act without the consent of the group was the rule, so Sylia just nudged us around to her side until Priss agreed. For a moment, I wondered what would've happened if the decision had been to attack?

But that was irrelevant... there was never a chance of everyone agreeing to attack. Never. Even Priss' fury was cooling quickly. She sat down, exhaling a long breath as she nestled herself into the only spare chair, directly opposite me.

"So what then?" she asked, "If we're not going to fight, what do we do?"

"First, I'd like Nené to bring her scanning equipment."

"What scanning equipment?" questioned Nené,

So did I, actually. The only scanning equipment I could think of...

"The scanning equipment down in the basement, I need you to check it," smiled our leader.

"Oh," the light went on, "_That _scanning equipment."

"We need to be sure we're not being watched," Sylia told her, "A scan of the surrounding buildings should show anything untoward up."

"And if there is something?" she asked.

"It will have to be dealt with as discretely as possible"

Priss wore a hungry smile. She'd deal with it alright.

"And when we are sure we're not being watched, we can move our equipment from the basement to the beta site." Sylia said, "We will load the truck with the hardsuits and equipment, under cover of furniture removal. It shouldn't take too long."

She was answered by a collective groan. I almost would've preferred a suicide mission... almost. Hardsuits were heavy... three person heavy including the crate. And then there was the machinery... some of that stuff looked to weigh over a tonne.

It was 10:03:12

"I have work at two o'clock," I declared delightfully, "I have to finish at 1 to get home and get ready!"

I smiled giddily, congratulating myself for my ingenuity. 4 pairs eyes bored into my skull, wishing me a slow and painful death.

Linna instantly perked up.

"I have work at three," she announced brightly, "And _all _this soot, I have to wash it off before I start my classes."

She was answered by a stony silence. The pair of us traded satisfied grins.

"If that's the case, your cover must come first."

What made it even more satisfying was, it was true. I couldn't afford to loose my job. I didn't have Priss' star power to constantly get away with it, either. Last night had been a day off I'd asked for a week earlier, but dropping out at short notice? Nope. I was the grunt. Paid less than minimum wage. I could be dropped in a shot, and replaced just as quick. Like a dead battery.

"Of course, since you two will be busy, I'm afraid it'll just be the three of us for dinner tonight."

Shit.

The wind just dropped from my sails.

Fuck work. Fuck it hard in the ass.

A meal paid for by Sylia... even a mid-range restaurant would be better than the cheap instant stuff I lived off of. I could still taste the cardboard filler in my morning porridge.

Nené stuck her tongue out victoriously.

Linna's eyes narrows to cat-like slits, the elder woman wishing her a painful and violent death. Priss just loved it.

"Oh well." Resistance would be futile, anyways.

The doorbell chimed, piercing the conversation. A small red light was blinking on the the intercom plate beside the door. Whoever they were, they wanted to talk.

"Mackie," Sylia gestured towards the door.

The boy shrugged, giving her a sour look that wondered why she couldn't do it herself. Why did it have to be him? Why did he have to be treated like a slave? It wasn't as if his sister wasn't too much older than him. Nené was only about a year or two ahead…

I remembered _that_ feeling well.

The young mechanic still had a slight limp to his stride, walking to the door. Nené watched for a moment. She probably didn't even realise she was staring at his butt, before her attention returned to the matter at hand.

She twirled a lock of her hair between fingers. "I've heard good things about the Bang Café on Ryan Street."

"Thunder Road on Kurotawa," suggested Priss. "They've got much better service."

"Oh Shit!" yelled Mackie.

Five women turned to see the boy jump back from the intercom like it'd given him an electric shock. He looked back at us, eyes wide.

"Mason's here," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "He's here to talk to the building's owner, on behalf of GENOM"

My heart stopped dead.

Mason. Brian J. Mason. What was he doing here? Does he know who we are? Will he know? Is he leading some sort of death squad come to catch is together. The room charged with static tension. It was clear that I wasn't the only one.

"I knew they'd do this," growled Priss.

"This be suspicious," I told the teacup in front of me.

"All of us together like this, if GENOM wanted proof of who we are?" Linna gasped.

Nené was two steps ahead of everyone, eyes darting from curtains to couch to cardboard box, looking for somewhere to hide. There were certainly enough boxes around for some Solid Snake antics alright. But that'd just look even more suspicious.

"You're concerned customers wondering about your orders," Sylia instructed, "You're worried about getting your money back. My insurance will pay for the loss."

I wondered just what the hell she was on about for a moment, before everything clicked into place upstairs.

"Bring him in," she told Mackie.

I held my breath. Apprehension tickled through my body, tightening my gut. I could feel the air strain, smell the building tension. The door opened, the stink of smoke and smut rushing in as if it had opened onto the depths of hell.

"Just step inside, Mr. Mason," said Mackie, "My sister is dealing with some customers right now."

"I understand," answered a voice, oily and slick.

For all the fire and brimstone, Mr. Mason was astonishingly human. A little on a short side, with a slicked back hairstyle… like black oil I thought sticking with the theme. His eyes were small and devious, focusing dead ahead on his goals, sitting at the table drinking tea. His mouth a thin slit drawn up into smile the most vacuous of TV anchormen would've paid good money to have. His suit was tailored to perfection, powering him forward. As he walked, he seemed to be favouring his left leg slightly

He was as black and sooty as everyone else.

"Miss Stingray," he oozed out, "Always a pleasure to meet you, though I do regret it must be under such unfortunate circumstances."

Somebody's anger flared hot like cutting torch… tight, controlled, but a deadly tool. Priss face twisted into a grimace as she bit down on her own fury. Nené shivered, glancing past him at the woman who followed through the door.

Boomer.

My senses warned me an instant before the logical parts of my mind caught up. Another 33C. Voluptuous and deadly, vulpine eyes scanning the room for threats. Mackie, Sylia, Priss, Nené, Linna, then finally myself. She took a long hard look at me, analysing me, singling me out as 'different' from the others.

Smugly, I remembered her sister staring back at me with those same parts-bin eyes, bits of wooden firedoor stabbed through its back. It was an _it_… a machine. Intelligent, but not sentient. I was superior.

It could still kill me in half a heartbeat if it wanted to.

"Mr. Mason, It's good to see you again. It's been too long."

Sylia fucking _hated_ him, raw hatred hidden by years of practice. She stood up, she smiled at him as if he was the oldest friend of the family. She bowed courteously and welcomed him into her home. She wanted to fucking _kill_ him brutally, right there on the table.

The air stank of it, a hatred so pure and deep it scared me. Even the cyberdroid standing by the door could sense it. Its gaze fixed dead on Sylia… just in case. There were butterknives on the table.

Instead, her 'polite' bow spurned his offer of a handshake.

"I'm dealing with customers at the moment," she said, lifting a few empty cups from the table. "You'll have to wait until we're finished here."

"I understand, the customer does come first," Mason nodded softly. "Business is the same at all scales, is it not?"

"It is," Sylia agreed, "Every customer is important. They're human beings, not just money. We forget that at our own risk,"

"Values that we at GENOM hold dear."

No it doesn't. GENOM and humanity was like an Adolf Hitler centre for Jewish welfare, a contradiction in terms. Priss was struggling to keep herself from laughing, Nené was deliberately and obviously not looking at him, while Linna calmly munched on a sandwich, pretending she wasn't bothered.

"Indeed," Sylia nodded, "You can wait in my private office while I finish, I'll have my brother bring in tea and sandwiches."

"Thank you."

_Something_ was simmering inside Mason, an 'I know more than you do' confidence that stained the air. I caught the draft of it as he walked past, his stride powerful, confident, stamping down on those below.

A quick gesture from his sister instructed Mackie to show him the way. The teenager rolled his eyes. "This way," he said, gesturing towards a closed door.

"Please be quick," Mason requested, "I do have limited time."

"Of course, Mr. Mason. We just have to work some last things out here."

Mason accepted that. I don't think he bought a word of it, but kicking off a bloodbath in an innocent businesswoman's kitchen wasn't something corporate GENOM would cover up.

"Rin," he addressed his bodyguard, "Stay out here, there's no need to follow me inside. No one will harm me here."

It wasn't for lack of wanting anyway. Two people in the room wanted to see him roasted alive over a fire slowly, like pork on a spit.

"Yes sir," the boomer answered, taking a station by the doorway.

I couldn't hate him. I didn't like him… but then again, he was much like a lot of people I didn't like. Pompous, arrogant, slick and slimy as a piece of dog-shit on a footpath. I still couldn't hate him. I wanted to… I probably should've… but I just didn't _feel_ like it. A piece of human shit, but one of many I dealt with on a day to day basis. Not worth a stab with a blade, just a terse 'fuck off' before I moved on to more interesting people.

If it wasn't for what I knew about him, he would be nothing special… Just another executive. The future Largo… if I met him on the street and didn't know who he was, or what he'd become, I'd never have given him a second thought.

Funny that.

It's easy to say 'Mason must die', but hard to picture a bloodied blade in my hand.

The door closed behind him, while Mackie busied himself fixing more sandwiches.

All five of us glanced up at Rin, still standing by the door. It was obvious why Mason had left her... it standing there. It was there to watch _us_, to ensure we stuck to our story.

"So, Ladies," Sylia sat down, "I think you can see why we have to bring this to a quick conclusion."

"So do we get our money back or not?" Priss was first to fall into line.

"Yeah," Nené pouted, "I put a lot of hours saving into that order and now it goes up in smoke!"

I get it…

"I am not rich. I lose money with destroyed order. Not make rent!"

"Now," Sylia held her hands up in an apology, "I'm not actually able to offer a refund right now, because of the damage, but I can reorder from my suppliers and fill your orders in about a month. It'll take as long to get a refund, I'm afraid."

Time to sit and act thoughtful. This is how we win an Oscar.

"My order was for party in 2 weeks. I miss party in one month!" I exclaimed, acting furious. I tried to push the full weight of my pheromones behind it, consciously pushing myself, turning up the chemical heat.

Not like that…

"If that's the case, I can try expediting the order." The businesswoman promised.

"I'd rather have a refund," Linna piped up, "I just can't wait."

"Miss Tachikawa, Miss Grillo."

Nené and Priss shared a quick glance, wondering who was supposed to be who. Well, Sylia could hardly use our real names, could she?"

"I'd like to think about it," Nené said, her own natural nervousness helping.

The vulpine cyberdroid watched silently on, standing statue-still. I took a few moments to consider what the differences between her and me were.

33C, compared to 33S. Just plain intelligent versus self-aware. I wonder just how different the wetware is inside its skull. It might only have been a single clutch of transistors, or maybe a cluster of nerves, but the smallest change in hardware placed a vast gulf between the pair of us.

I leant back in the chair, breathing a long sigh as I focused on the ceiling above.

"I'd like to think about it as well." Priss said, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

"Well, I'll take care of my business with Mr. Mason. We can sort this out when we're done," said Sylia.

"Agreed," the four of us answered with varying levels of enthusiasm.

"This should only take a few minutes anyway," she reassured us with feigned cheerfulness.

She disappeared into her office, leaving us with Rin.

"I hope this is done quick," breathed Nené, placing her face into her hands. "This is awful."

"Yup," Linna agreed.

Priss bristled, biting her lip, while I just plain couldn't think of anything to say… That I could say in front of our cybernetic watcher anyway.

We sat in a tense silence… Waiting. I trained my ears on the closed door, but even I failed to hear anything more than the occasional, civil, mumble. I could tell _who_ was speaking, but not what they were saying.

Linna was eating her sandwiches, keeping her mouth full to keep from saying anything. Nené stared disconsolately at crumbs. Priss just stared…

What was going on behind those blood red eyes?

Linna looked over at the boomer in the corner…. before quickly snapping her attention back to the plate on the table. Nené peered around her back, snatching glances in between plotting to steal a sandwich from Priss' plate.

Taking food from a bear?

The hacker seemed to think so. Take food from Priss, Priss take hand in revenge.

Again, Linna glanced back up at the boomer. It still stood stoically by the door, expressionlessly watching over us.

"Are you armed?" she asked it.

"Yes," it answered. It took a few seconds to consider. "I am programmed not to use lethal force against unarmed humans."

The definition of 'armed'? Those two things attached to the shoulders probably. _Anything_ could be a weapon if you wanted it to be.

"Very reassuring," muttered Linna, a shiver running through her body.

Nené's eyes sparked.

"Are you…" She twirled a few strands of hair between her fingers as she thought about how best to phrase it… "Anatomically correct?"

"Only you," whispered Priss, rolling her eyes. Linna was struggling not to burst out laughing, snorting through her nose as she tried to squelch it.

"No, " answered the cyberdroid. "I am a tool, not a toy."

Its voice was stained with scorn. For a moment, I thought it was talking down to _me_ personally. I shot it a bitter glare. And _you're_ still a thing.

"Poor thing," Lamented Nené, "To never have known the satisfaction of having another touch your heart with his love."

"Neither have you," remarked Priss caustically, a dry smirk crawling across her features,

Pop, went Nené's bubble. Linna hooted, the dam holding back her laughter finally breaking.

"Shut up Priss!," she screeched, jumping to her feet. "The only thing you've ever had between your legs runs on petrol!"

Cue facepalm, a sharp slap in the sudden silence that followed. Linna hid behind her hands.

"Nice one genius," I deadpanned. Nené puts her foot in it… again. Signal interrupted between brain and mouth. Nené's eyes flickered back and forth, the gears in the young woman's mind slowly grinding over.

Click! Everything lined up. Her face fell.

"Oops," she whimpered, slinking back down into her chair. Shame seeped into the air.

Rin, watched on, her face almost stoic. I swear for a second though, I saw a satisfied smirk on its face. Stupid humans.

Silence returned.

Deadly silence.

Had Nené just blow our cover? I watched the cyberdroid, for any hint. It'd tell Mason, of course. A name, a theory. Fear seeped through my frame. Could one name be linked like a chain to everyone? Priss to Hot Legs to me to customers to Linna and Nené herself. Nice one Nené…

It…

It was still watching.

Like a pseudo-meat statue.

Standing so awfully still.

Just watching.

Nobody even looked at the pink haired woman.

Maybe some good would come of this. Another meal at the St. Regis? Or death by airsoft hare and hounds, with Nené as the hare? A quick look around, told me I wasn't the only one thinking so.

The meeting continued inside.

"This sucks," I said to myself. "No money, no presents. What shit hen party it will be," I forced a dissatisfied sigh. "Stupid boomers."

The show must go on. Even after Nené buggered up her part.

"Hen party?" wondered Linna.

"Uh-huh. Friend from work. No big deal."

"Last one I went to," said Linna conversationally, "The stripper turned out to be a boomer. Didn't realise until I was told. He was kind, gentle, he had a _perfect _body"… even the memory was triggering her hormones… "And these eyes that seemed so deep, and so comfortable," she thought for a moment, "Like the deep blue sea. Vast and infinite, but still warm and welcoming."

A male 33S? "Sexaroid?"

"Those are a myth!" gasped Nené.

I tried desperately not to laugh.

"I don't know," answered Linna… "But he certainly wasn't a normal boomer. He _almost_ seemed intelligent."

Emphasis on 'almost'.

"A boomer's still a boomer." Priss scoffed "Nothing but heartless machines like the statue at the door. It wasn't kind, it wasn't gentle, it was just _programmed_ to act that way."

I shot her a glare for a moment, before I clamped down. She wasn't talking to me, she wasn't talking about me, so why did it feel like she was? Why did it feel so deliberate, like she was trying to offend me?

Just a machine. Just programmed. I knew it wasn't true. But… it still eroded my spirit to hear it. I knew what I was… but would anybody believe me? Or would they think my tears were just a bloody simulation?

Bugger it.

It wasn't even worth getting worked up about anymore.

I took a quick look over at Rin… still standing. I'd been doing the exact same thing as Priss. Of course, she was right 99.9% of the time and…

Stop it.

My shoulder still tickled. 6 hours until repair complete, according to my software. I guess for every boon, there had to be a bust.

"It's like the difference between an arcade shooter, and actually firing a gun," Nené's voice dragged me back out of my own mind.

What did I miss?

The door to Sylia's office opened, Sylia herself holding it open. She was smiling, calm, serene, the mask still in place. I could still smell the hatred seething within her.

"I'm glad we were able to work this out amicably," she said, "I'm afraid no offer will convince me to part with this building. It's too good a business site."

"Please call me if you change your mind." Mason offered his card to her. "The offer remains on the table."

She took his card in two hands, placing it respectfully into a special compartment in her purse. The exchange of business cards had become as much a sacred Japanese tradition as the tea ceremony. Solemnly, she offered her own details.

Mason accepted, politely placing the small card into his wallet.

Sylia was praying he'd partake of another well known sacred Japanese tradition. Preferably with a butterknife, and without a second.

"I do hope our next meeting is under better circumstances," the executive said.

Sylia wanted to _hurt_ him so badly it was tearing her apart inside. "I'm sure it will be."

"I'm sorry I cannot stay longer, I'm sure we could spend some time reminiscing about your father." Mason stabbed. "But time is, as they say money. Farewell, Sylia."

"Goodbye," Sylia bowed.

Inside, she was seething. I could smell it, burning, sulphurous hate.

"Rin, with me," he pointed to the door. "Prepare my car."

And they left, the door closing behind them.

There was silence for a moment.

Sylia shuddered. Sylia took one long, pained breath, her body pulling tight.

I could see her mask breaking under the strain. It was fascinating to watch. Almost voyeuristic.

"Bastard!" Sylia spat. "You bastard Mason!," she screamed after him. All her hate, all her anger burst forward, shattering her mask. He body was shivering, almost as if she could explode with fury. Her eyes blazed, her skin burning a cherry red. Her hands clenched into fists so tightly I could see blood trickling between her fingers.

Tears trickled down her cheeks.

"Sis," Mackie interrupted. "It's okay sis. He's gone," His voice was soft, reassuring like a favourite pillow.

Priss was the first to stand up. The rest of us were just too stunned to move. Slowly, wordlessly, she stepped forward. "Sylia," she whispered, "It's alright. We're here for you," The pair embraced, Sylia resting her head on Priss' shoulder.

Shivers of sorrow wracked Sylia's body, as she struggled to hold it in, close it down.

"We're all here for you," Priss reassured.

Linna was next, followed by Nené. I glanced to Mackie, wondering if I should do the same. Of course I should. I was part of the group, wasn't I?

We guarded her, all of us.

"Bastard," she coughed, "Murdering bastard."

It was _nakama_… of course. All for one, one for all. Bound together.

"Well get him!" declared Nené.

"Yeah!" I affirmed.

"How much do you want him to suffer?" Priss asked, a savage smile on her face.

We held together for what felt like an age, bathing in the warmth of each others friendship and trust. Together, we could beat anything. I could feel it in my body, deep in the core of my being. I could _feel_ each of them, their support, their comfort, their friendship and loyalty towards Sylia.

Sylia answered with a teary-eyed smile. "Thank you all," she swallowed something, forcing it down inside her, "Thank you all so much."

"You'd do the same for us," said Linna, stepping back.

Sylia stepped free, taking a long, deep breath. She held it, closing her eyes, before exhaling slowly, firmly. Opening her eyes again, it was clear her mask had rebooted.

"We cannot attack Mason," she said, the ice in her voice still cracked. Tears still ran down her cheeks. "Rule 2: Do not act upon a personal grudge. It applies to all of us, even me."

And it hurt her to say so,

"You could change the rules," I suggested. "You are leader who set them."

She gave me a sly smile that seemed almost warm, and just shook her head.

"No."

Everyone looked disappointed. We wanted to hurt him. _We_ wanted to kill him. I could see the blade in my hand, and picture his blood on it, thick, dark blood. I could see it on my hands. He had hurt one of us, so we would hurt him back. He had threatened _us_, he had attacked _us_.

And _we_ would return the favour.

"Not now anyway," She took another composing breath, "Mason is trying to bait us, trying to get a rise out of us, trying to draw us out. He has attacked us, and we _will_ attack back…" Cold fire… a pure, cold fire of hate raged inside her, "… but not on his terms. We will rebuild ourselves and our equipment. We will prepare. And when we are done, we will not just kill him, we will _bury_ him."

Sylia was… terrifying…thrilling…

I could feel my heart racing, my blood running through my body. Brian J. Mason was already dead.

Priss was loving it.

"But right now, we have work to do. And we must work quickly."

-----

The stairs on the way down to the basement were just as dirty, just as treacherous, and a little more crowded than they had been an hour or so earlier.

"Nené, have you ever heard of the saying 'Engage your brain before you engage your mouth'?" Priss leant down on the young woman's shoulder, pressing her into the floor.

Nené answered with a nervous look. One of Priss' hands was on her other shoulder, the other was worryingly hidden.

"You provoked me," she muttered sourly, avoid Priss' gaze. Those blood-red eyes promised pain.

"You're too easy to provoke," commented Linna. "How many times is that now?"

Nené counted it out on her fingers, coming up with an unsettling number. She groaned, "Sylia's going to kill me."

"Rule 11," I stated.

"Death by…?" Linna placed a finger to her lips.

"But it was an accident!"

"_Once_ is an accident," Priss teased.

We passed through the remains of the parking garage, oily water pooling in between blocks of concrete. The wrecked K-suit and boomer had long been removed, except for some molten metal that had welded itself to the concrete. Sylia's car was a crushed, blackened shell, already starting to rust.

I stood on the exact spot where I'd kneeled the previous night.

The door down to the sub-basement had to be kicked open, it had buckled in the heat. Sylia'd already been here ahead of us, her footprints were left in the soot. The lights were on… barely… but the final door to headquarters was still locked. Black water had pooled at least a foot deep at the bottom, its cold chill seeping into my boots.

The air was damp and heavy like a dungeon, once white walls now coated in thick, smutty grime.

"I guess that's a new pair of shoes then," sighed Linna, sloshing up behind me. Nené took one look at the dark water and refused. Priss splashed ahead, punching her keycode into the door.

Linna dragged her in with a shriek and a splash that drenched my back.

"Thanks for that," I said.

"Yeah, you ruined my favourite dress," the young policewoman pouted.

"Suck it up," grunted Priss through her teeth, pushing the door open.

Inside was a mess. White sheets were stained grey, siphoning up foul water. The motorslaves were standing with water pooling around their brake callipers and lapping at the engine intakes. Four hardsuits stood open and blackened… the fifth was sloshing through the water to meet us.

"Nené," it said in Sylia's voice.

"Oh no," she shrank down. Sylia in her once-white hardsuit was nearly a foot and a half taller than Nené, and heavily armed.

"The hardsuits will need to be thoroughly cleaned after this. I think, with a toothbrush would be fair."

"Oh no," repeated Nené.

Sylia's expression was hidden by her visor. The others, of course, found Nené's sullen moping hilarious. Which it was, greatly. Such was the shame society, and I wasn't ashamed to find it funny, too.

Of course, connection problems between brain and mouth were all too familiar to me… when I'd been Nené's age, I'd been notorious for it. But I'd grown out of it in much the same way Nené was going to… with the 'generous support' of others.

"But before that happens, we have to clear this out of here. Everything must be loaded onto our truck within the hour. I have a meeting with the engineers at midday, and I expect that the building will be condemned. We need to move out of here before I am forced to seal the building off."

"Why not after?" Priss asked, "Wouldn't it be easier to do this tonight."

"No," answered the hardsuit. "A truck pulling up outside a condemned building would be too suspicious. Suit up, we have work to do."

We had ten tonnes of equipment to shift, some of it weighing more than a tonne on its own. How better to move it than use hardsuit tech for what it was originally designed for? Hardsuit technology, after all had originally been intended for search and rescue operations, ironically, after a hypothetical future earthquake in old Tokyo. With firestorms raging through the streets and tonnes of rubble to shift, with the potential for deadly chemical leaks from collapsed buildings, what better than a sealed suit of powered armour?

Sylia told me she just took the original concepts and added weapons.

Even boomer technology was originally intended to help mankind... not run riot through the streets levelling buildings. The same with Einstein's equations of relativity which lead to the atomic bomb, the same with Alfred Nobel's dynamite.

Well, that was just the march of technology wasn't it? Someone intends it to make peoples lives better. Someone uses it to make people's lives end.

The truck was parked up discretely. It was just a truck parking up outside a building, one of many vehicles driving in and out, so what if it went around the back? Sylia's battleship grey 8-wheeler was remarkable in its ubiquity and ordinariness.

One of thousands, nobody gave it a second look.

Priss, Linna and I loaded it, while Nené kept a lookout. Sylia was busy upstairs, getting the bad news from the engineers. Hardsuits made for quick work. By 11:43:41, the truck was loaded, the last things in, hidden by a cover of furniture, were the suits themselves.

And since I'd have to skip offloading it, it'd been decided without my consent, that I'd be the one to at least drive it to the beta base. That, and Mackie was the only one other than me who could drive a truck.

What an odd skill for a sexaroid. So was the ability to pilot an airplane, but I could do that, too. I didn't question it. A 33S was sold with the pick of GENOM's pre-programmed boomer skills. Whatever their owner wanted… everything from a flame haired action girl, to a quiet, cute, gentle maid-type. A quick glance at reflection in the truck's mirror told me exactly what I was supposed to be.

I had my old skills... I still remembered how to ride a bike and do differential algebra... and I had my boomer skills too. I could drive, I could fly, I could fight… and 'other' things. I had the advantages of being 2 persons rolled into one, and being both at the same time.

I settled myself into a chair comfy enough for long hours of driving.

Priss jumped up into the passenger seat beside me, pulling the door shut with a heavy clunk.

"You coming with me?"

"No space in Linna's car," she said, "Not with Mackie and Sylia in it."

Why didn't they just take a taxi, or a private helicopter, I wondered for a moment. But then again, that just didn't seem like her style, did it?

"Hope you don't mind Iron Maiden."

"Maiden?" she gave me a strange, scorn-filled look, "Damn, that's old. They stopped touring before I was _born._"

Technically I was 45 years old. Technically, I was 3 years old at the same time.

I shrugged. "Born a few decades too late I am."

The truck's engine came to life with a judder, coughing black smoke out the stacks. 1200bhp, the most powerful thing I'd ever driven. But only between 1250 and 1500 RPM. 18 gears under my left hand, my right hand on the steering wheel and a dull ache in my shoulder as I manoeuvred the beast out the door.

A half hour to get to the beta-base, a half hour home, another hour to get ready for work. No problem. Just don't squish any pedestrians… or get pulled over.

"Not saying anything against them, they're just not my thing," said Priss, with a dismissive shrug of her shoulders.

"Yup. But wine like Maiden get better as it get old."

We chatted as I drove… about Hot Legs, about why I'd taken to dressing so racily while working… it seemed to improve the tips I got… and just what work Raven was doing on that old K100. Then onto what work Priss'd done to her Ninja, whatever club _The Replicants_ were next touring at, and whether trucks were allowed in the outside lane or not?

Something had changed with her, and I wondered what it might have been. She seemed to have warmed to me overnight. She wasn't as outright 'uncomfortable' around me. Why? What had changed?

Outside the cab, Megatokyo carried on. A blimp hung lazily in the sky, advertising some new kind of baseball bat, followed by an ADP recruitment drive. 20 year old Nissan taxis chased biker couriers darting between traffic, shooting for gaps that only existed for the half a second they needed to get through it. The fastest and most secure way to move large amounts sensitive data in 2032 wasn't through a network cable, it was on a stack of petabyte disks hanging off the back of a speeding motorcycle. Sure, the ping time sucked, but just imagine the throughput. And short of knocking the rider off and killing him, the data was as secure as it could be.

The bay was glistening through alleyways to my right, A few schoolgirls in their sailor-uniforms raced each other to the local shop, each one chatting through their own personal headset computers. They may have been looking ahead, but they weren't watching where they were going… the sunglasses were actually computer screens.

A cyclist choked on diesel fumes belching from the truck's stacks. My heart skipped a few beats as we thundered past a THP speed-check… police always made me nervous.

Priss, perceptive as ever, picked right up on it. "Had a bad experience with the police?"

"No," I said, "It's just that I am boomeroid. Not like being handled like machine."

"Oh," The cooling expression on Priss' face told me she figured there was a great deal more to it than that. "I guess that's the price you pay." She sat there thinking for an age. I wanted to jump out there door before the ticking time bomb beside me finally reached zero. This was _exactly_ the sort of conversation Linna had warned me about when we were in our hardsuits.

"It is."

Non-committal, non-confrontational. Don't pick a fight.

"How's the shoulder?"

I blinked for a moment, blindsided by a question I just hadn't expected.

I stuttered "Fine. Still a little tingly."

"And I guess that's what you get in return," she said flatly. What was going on behind those eyes? I could read her mood, but I couldn't read her mind. And even what I got off her was conflicted. Hostility, but restrained… fear, but irrational… curiosity, but guarded like a mouse that'd escaped enough traps to know what one looked like.

I exhaled, pushing my attention back to the road ahead.

"Meg… why don't you turn off your pain receptors?"

"I can't," I answered truthfully.

A dark flash of anger passed over as I remembered why I couldn't turn them off, but I ignored it. It wasn't worth worrying about. It had nothing to do with the woman beside me and anyway, nobody I knew would do that sort of thing anyway.

Would they?

"Maybe that's it then," Priss continued, staring out at the heat-shimmering skyscrapers. " It's pain that sets us apart. That holds us as who we are. That anchors us in the real world."

"How?"

She was chewing something over in her mind, what was it? Priss gulped something down, never taking her gaze from a point 400 yards in front of her. Part of me knew I didn't want to hear the answer to that question. The rest of me was morbidly curious…

"I used to be in a bike gang," she started. I wanted to be anywhere but in the same cab as her, "Quit school and ran. I loved it."

How was I supposed to discuss this sort of thing with her, I had no frame of reference for it. I'd lived the good life, the normal life.

"Anyway," Priss continued, bracing her leg against the dashboard, "there was a guy by the name of Shima, about 18 years old. Nice guy. He had a real spark to his personality. Talkative, outgoing, right until he ran into the back of a truck and broke his neck."

I didn't want to say anything. I could've said 'I'm sorry', or something… but to tell the honest truth, I hated doing that. I always did. It always felt so hollow and fake… a lie to a person when they were most vulnerable.

"He got cybernetics… most of his body. Back in 2030, cybernetics… for anyone who didn't work for GENOM… were still power cables and metal y'know, even when they had a realskin covering. He came back, looking much the same as he always did. Talked the same, drank the same… even though he didn't get drunk anymore… Hmph, he was the wonder of cybertechnology alright."

Scorn filled her voice. I just nodded, just to show I was still listening. Even though somehow, it didn't feel like something I deserved to hear.

"That was at first. _Then_ the problems started. Little things at first." As little as the distance between her thumb and her finger, "He put his hand on hot exhausts, and didn't realise until someone smelled it. He drank boiling water... which scalded the mouth of his girlfriend when she gulped it down. He came off his bike at 60 kph, and tore the skin off his legs... then got up and wondered what the big deal was."

I pulled the truck off the highway down onto surface streets, trying not to squash a wayward drunk staggering between lampposts, randomly walking. Sure he'd reach home eventually… but not if he stepped right out in front of me.

"His girlfriend was hospitalised for 6 weeks. Eventually, he stopped wearing safety gear, no helmet, no leathers. He started to withdraw, to grow colder, more distant, isolating himself from the world. Brick by brick, his body walled him off from the world, until all that was left was a pair of eyes looking out."

Shadows fell on the truck, wind roar rising as we dived down into the Port Route 130 tunnel. Orange lights strobed off Priss' eyes, glistening moist.

"His body isolated him from the world. And he isolated the world from himself. He tried to pull himself back. He used his knife to cut to the steel. He held his hands in burning flames. And still he felt nothing... he just faded away, cold steel slowly eroding his soul until there was nothing left."

What happened? I wanted to ask.

"He took a dive in Tokyo bay not long after his girlfriend got out of the hospital, but he'd been dead for months beforehand. What they dredged from the bottom of the bay was nothing more than an iron doppelgänger."

Silence followed. I had to say something, but I agonised over what. It would be an irony, if the one thing that helped me keep my sanity, had been the 33S ability to feel pain. I wasn't isolated from the world. If anything, compared to me, Priss was the one who was isolated... I stared down into my reflection on the speedometer. I couldn't tell her the truth, how I really felt. I'd have to tell her what I really was. There was just one thing.

"I am still myself," I affirmed.

"Are you sure?"

I nodded, taking a deep breath.

"_This is my grandfather's axe. My father replaced the handle, and I've replaced the head. Is it not my grandfather's axe?"_

Priss mulled that over in her mind, translating it into a language she was more familiar with.

"My body change. But me still me."

"If that's how you feel," she said, "But, our bodies are part of who we are. We change our body, we change how we perceive the world, we change ourself." her voice hardened. "You're not who you were, Meg. That person is dead."

This was complicated. I shifted on my seat, trying to figure this out in my head. I think she was agreeing with how I saw myself... but I wasn't sure. I wasn't even sure about that. I wasn't that person anymore... I knew that... but that person was still a part of me. And I was Meg Deckard. And I was both at the same time. And I got confused. But how could I explain as much to Priss, if I couldn't explain it to myself?

"I am myself, even if myself is constantly changing."

"Hmmph" snorted Priss. Silence. "Who did you use to be then, before... whatever happened?"

I relaxed immediately. The answer to this one was easy.

"Nobody special. Parents, school, college. A person among millions, and content to be. Even this..." I pointed at my chest... "Then I met Irene Can," I forced a chuckle, trying to inject a little sense of humour into things. "Hmmm... otherwise I would be wear a suit, wear a tie, private desk… 9 to 5 go to work every day."

"Welcome to living, then," Priss laughed dryly, "What do you think so far?"

"I like it," I said. It sounded mad... but even after last night... I liked my life. I didn't like the repeated near-death experiences, but... dear God, I could get used to them. After all, it was my choice. And that was the occasional consequence of it.

But one thing I knew.

Nobody would let me die. They'd die to save my life, any Knight Saber would for another. Would I?

I honestly didn't know. But it was nice to feel protected, to feel wanted. What we did for Sylia would be done for me, for Priss, for Nené or Linna if it came to it. _We_ would support each other, in daily life, and in a hardsuit.

"I think it is best thing that ever happen to me," I said. Priss gaped for a moment, almost offended by the idea. "I would never meet you and Knight Saber other way."

"Ah," the light went on, "Sylia Stingray is the best thing that ever happened in my life, I'd be dead now if it wasn't for her."

And that's all she said about it. It wasn't something I wanted to pry into. I was just glad it was over. From what I knew about Priss... what I'd heard since I arrived in Megatokyo, and what I'd gotten from fan websites and videos... that wasn't hyperbole.

My life in Megatokyo would've been pretty different if I'd never met her, either.

I just drove the truck. Followed the path on the navigator down to a nondescript warehouse near the docks. Seagulls squawked overhead, slowly rolling the truck forward. They divebombed onto morsels of food dropped on grey concrete streets before springing back into the air so they wouldn't get squished. One spent too long to get out of the way and went under the wheels.

"Every warehouse looks the same." I said, eyeballing the signs.

_Langdon Onshore Loading_ rolled past, a happy green tugboat smiling back from the sign, followed by several thousand square feet of Kawasaki Heavy Industries. Priss pressed herself against the window, preying for a glimpse of what was inside.

Right turn, another left... watch for the boomer with the crate... and there it was. Grey, hulking and probably older than Jesus, with a nice dent in the ocean facing girders where the post-quake tsunami had hit it.

Sylia's warehouse, where she normally stored her stock after it shipped in from Europe.

The beta-base.

A giant panty-drawer, according to Nené.

"Well, here we are."

12:38.24.

A little later than I thought, but not too far behind schedule, considering the traffic. Just park the truck, unloading it was someone else's problem, I had work of my own to do.

----

God bless the shower.

I stood under it for nearly twenty minutes, black smut flowing off my body. It was nice to be clean again. Clean clothes, just my usual jeans and jacket-type combination… and I put my work clothes into a duffel bag.

Only a madwoman would wear a miniskirt and boob-tube walking through Megatokyo streets. It attracted _far_ to much attention. I was long since used to the passing glances, but getting constantly stopped in the street the one time I dressed before going to work was just plain annoying.

Work was work… I broke up a fight, getting a dig to the face for the privilege. A new band was playing their debut… _Three Knights_ they called themselves. Ken had dropped the cover charge, and decreased drink prices to ensure the place was packed for their first gig. It was good for the band, he told me… so they didn't lose heart by playing to a half empty building. Problem was, it tended to drag in the shitehawks from the street out for cheap booze.

Anyway, they were doing alright. They'd have a long career for sure.

Their lead singer could certainly hold his own and I couldn't fail to note that he would've been pretty bloody attractive, if I'd actually been into that sort of thing.

I was getting less hesitant to use my abilities from day to day. The more I got away with it, the easier it was to do it. It was nice to be able to comfort a husband whose wife had just died with just a soft hand on the shoulder and a sympathetic smile. I didn't have to say a word. I didn't have to lie to him about how I felt, just hold him gently.

He asked for my phone number. I apologised, I wasn't up for a relationship. He understood, and I had to get back to work.

My laptop was recording for the benefit of the web. A few nerds sometimes commented on it, wondering if it was some sort of casemod, with 2032 internals. Nope… it even had a spinning magnetic hard disk. And then there was me… a geek's walking, talking wet dream.

I liked being a legend. Even if I couldn't actually admit to it.

I think it's why Priss was starting to talk to me. We were together, in a confined space, with my pheromones wafting through the air. At the very least, it would've had a 'relaxing' effect on her, even if I wasn't actively trying to exploit it.

Yeah, that was probably it.

Another point for the boomer. It made interpersonal relationships so much smoother. I'd been keeping a score between Mk1 _Homo Sapiens_ and the Bu 33S series. Humanity was losing. Humanity didn't even seem to put up a fight.

The only real downside… aside from a few irritating quirks I could live with and still gripe about… was the whole property issue, and the potential for summary execution if a cop so much as looked at me the wrong way. But really, so long as I kept my wits about myself and didn't do anything to draw attention to myself, like getting myself arrested… or start running around sucking the blood out of innocent bystanders… I'd be fine. It still worried me, but it wasn't going to be a problem unless _I_ got dumb, or gave into the simmering terror that screamed 'run!' every time I saw a cop-car.

I might've complained internally… I might've had flashes of bitterness over what _could_ be done to me. But I tried not to dwell on it… It was just too depressing.

I liked my life in Megatokyo. I liked who I was. I liked being a Knight Saber… And not just because of the hardware. I had friends… good friends who'd really stand beside me. I had my own apartment, my own job, my own money, my own life. I was in control.

I was free.

The occasional chance of sudden death or enslavement seemed a small price to pay.

I was, I think, halfway through mixing a cocktail that could've been used as a paint stripper, that I came to the conclusion that I didn't want to go home. To what was supposed to be home anyway. I still got the odd pang of homesickness sometimes, but no more than any other immigrant in this city.

Slowly but surely, Megatokyo was becoming my home now.

I got an odd look from the punk as he paid for his drink. I guess some leather-jacketed punk with more chrome than the average Harley Davidson on him wasn't expecting a half-spaced smile on the woman behind the bar in the denim skirt and short top. He was still giving me suspicious looks as he disappeared into the crowd. I could see Leon sharing a toast with a few of his colleagues, a few couples in the darker corners had taken to showing their affections in public.

Smoke cast a grey cloud over the bar, drafting down over the stage. Lasers lanced through, beams made visible by the hanging, carcinogenic cloud. I hated fags, but there was no law against smoking in public places in Megatokyo. I couldn't get cancer, of course, but it still left its chemical traces in my blood. It still parched my throat and tickled my chest. It made people drink more.

Somebody demanded a pint of Ale… literally, Ale. We didn't have it, who the hell does? He got snitty and started to act like he knew better than I did, generally annoying the hell out of everyone else waiting to be served by shouting loudly, butting in front others and generally being an irritating jackass. Ale man was removed quickly and efficiently by the boomers.

Abuse of power? Probably, but it felt good and no one complained. A lot of people seemed glad to see the ale man gone.

Petty and pointless revenge aside… never mind how good it felt, it was just a normal night. Some were celebrating, some were drowning their sorrows, some were jackasses, but most where there to get drunk with friends and just enjoy the music.

"This is our new one just for tonight," announced the singer downstairs. "Fresh and ready, we call it _MisterDandy,_" The crowd cheered obligingly, and he was glad. Better him than me… any time I'd had to go up on stage, I'd bloody well hated it. "Two, three, four…"

Yup, their career would be long here. _Three Knights_ were a shoe-in to replace _The Replicants_ when Priss' band moved on in the next few weeks. They'd one more show to go.

"Hey, they the replacements?"

Speak of the devil… or think of her anyway.

"Yeah." I gestured towards the stage, "Not bad, either. Anything to drink?"

"Nah," she shook her head. "Where's Ken?"

"At the mixing desk," I told her. "Show nearly finished."

She took one glance over at the old man standing in the glass booth, watching out over the stage, dead to the world inside his soundproofed cocoon. His hands danced across the boards, adjusting bass and treble, compression and signal gain, the triggering cues for the lightshow.

She'd cleaned herself up, changing her clothes, but there was still a faint smell of burning and sweat, mixed with the fatigue of a day's heavy lifting. While she'd been doing that, I'd spent 4 hours doing bugger all except waiting for a customer to appear.

I felt guilty to have left my colleagues to so much work.

For a third of a second

The lights above the stage swung slow, painting the singer in a malevolent crimson glare for the briefest of instants, flames of hellfire flickering in her eyes.

"Well," the edges of her lips curled up, "He hasn't paid for the last three shows. I'm here to make sure he does."

Better him than me.

"Well, not take out on staff who have no control."

Priss had a savage laugh, which sent thrills of terror through my body. Storm clouds rolled through the building, following Priss to the booth. As if sensing her mood on an instinctive level, the thronging crowd parted like the red sea before Moses.

"Hey," she thumped the glass, "Where's my damn money!"

Ken looked up from his panel, tapping at his headset with a teasing smile, like a cat up a tree, safe from a chasing dog. He couldn't hear, he didn't want to hear.

"I wanna get paid for my work here old man!"

People were starting to take notice.

"And your uploading my songs onto the net without my permission."

Nonchalantly, I closed the lid on my laptop, busying myself with another customer's needs. A what... Kirin and a bottle of Coke?... No problem.

"How do you think you're getting away with ripping me off?"

Priss started to boil over, rattling at the doorway. Mr. Nakamura just kept right on ignoring her, turning up the heat.

"Hey! Asshole, don't think you can hold out on me."

The boomers by the door started to take notice. I waved them off... that wasn't something I wanted to hear about in the morning. Still, there was something blackly satisfying about the thought of Priscilla being carted out underarm, after saying 'hello' to one of them in her usual fashion.

Unaware downstairs, the band played on.

Ken just swatted his hand at the angry hornet outside. Priss looked liked she was about to spontaneously combust with rage. Don't laugh... for the love of all that is good and holy, don't fucking laugh.

"I'll break the damn door down if you don't talk to me."

She would, too... Aw shit.

"Priss!" I called after her, rooting beneath the bar, "Beer on house!"

A bottle of Yebisu, cold, glistening in the strobing lights. Sensual, irresistible. Was there really a choice?

"Hey, if she gets one for being a bitch, can I? Someone asked. Just another neon-haired punk. Literally, neon hair, powered by micro-solar collectors and mini-batteries.

"She work here." I grunted through my teeth.

"And we're customers here"

"Thanks Meg," Priss snatched it out of my hand, while I was too busy glaring at the perpetrators. "Cranky old bastard has it in for me. Fucking GENOM," she spat into her bottle.

I threw her a cybernetically soothing smile, knowing the true reasons behind everything.

"Not so bad to me."

"Dressed like that, I can see why."

She was teasing... I think. It was hard to tell. She was still bloody furious... emphasis on bloody... but it wasn't directed at me. Was it? Her mood mingled with everyone around her... someone simmering with lust, another deep in the bliss stage of romance, the aching pain of loss, and somebody spinning with a strange, frustrated confusion.

"Just work," I shrugged. "And hot in here."

"I can see why." she repeated with a lupine smirk..

Speaking of work... I couldn't stand around and talk to her, as much as I wanted to. I really did want to know why her attitude had changed so much. But that'd have to wait. Work sets you free, I guess. I was paid shite-all, but I even liked my job. Hot Legs was a nice place to work. Clean, popular, and with an energy that charged me up. The jackass quotient was pretty low, and when trouble did kick off, things got dealt with pretty quickly by the boomers, or by the N-police.

Priss was downing her drink, shooting glances towards the glass booth. Ken was busy, Isildore was serving parfaits. A few of the school kids were running for spent glasses… they'd be out the door by 10. God's in his heaven, all's right with the world.

10:12:46

Exactly 24 hours earlier, I'd been staring down the barrel of a boomers cannon, praying it wouldn't shoot. Now, I was holding a washed glass up to the lights, checking for spots, lights dancing like sparks from a flame.

My skin started to crawl.

Hmmm…. Well, it's clean anyway.

And I'm alive.

And when I can go to work a day after fighting for my life, and have it not seem incongruous or surreal or any other sort of spooky abnormal thing, then I'll know when I've become a true Knight Saber. It was certainly getting easier to deal with. Pull another pint, a few bottles of beer, a cocktail, a bottle of minerals… my face is up here please… that's 1520 yen please… yeah the band are pretty good, they'll be back soon. Final _Replicants_ concert is next Wednesday, just so you know.

"Yo, Priss," I heard behind me…" Want to split a drink?... It's on me."

And Leon chancing his arm… along with his neck.

"Well..." Priss prepared to shoot him down... as usual. "You and your ADP did save the lives of two of my friends last night."

What?

Leon blinked, surprised by his success.

"You can buy me a drink, just this once." Priss said. "And _only_ one drink."

Leon just wore a look which wondered how anyone would refuse a free drink... How could she accept his offer of a drink and still make it sound like she was doing him a favour was a mystery. It was the mysteries of the female, mysteries I could only scratch the surface of, despite technically being a member of _club de la femme_. There were plenty of things I still just didn't get.

I kept an ear out for them... for curiosity's sake, wondering how long it would be before Leon fell flat on his face.

"What you having then?"

Smooth alright. Practised. Rarely effective.

"Just another Kirin," said Priss, necking the last of her free bottle.

"Deckard," Leon pulled for my attention, taking a few moments to notice my arm in a sling, before his eyes tracked across to a point a few inches below my neck... as usual for humans. "Two more Kirin, for me and for the singing siren here," True to tradition, he placed a weighty hand on Priss' shoulder.

Priss shot him a look which threatened to try rip that arm clean off if it wasn't take off. "Don't push it cowboy," she warned.

The hand pulled cautiously away, as if being drawn out of the jaws of a trap which could slam shut at any moment. Impishly, I raised the hormonal temperature as I rummaged through the fridge for two cold ones... too warm, too cold... the label's too loose on this one... too much moisture on this one... hmm.

He was burning with arousal behind me, I could feel it bristling in the air.

I really can be evil when I want to be. A little too evil, perhaps. Too bad he insisted on wearing shades indoors, I really could've messed him up otherwise. Still, there was something perversely satisfying about what I was doing. The man who could shoot me right off and be congratulated for it... was under my control.

Until he figured out just how I was able to do it, whipped his gun out and shot me right between the eyes as a threat to public safety. I cooled immediately, cursing myself for my own stupidity. He was ADPolice... I was a boomer.

My gut twisted at the thought.

As usual.

It wasn't worth dwelling on. Just get the drink, take the money… Service with a smile. Just a daily dose of fear and apprehension, nothing more. I was getting almost comfortable with it… Comfortable enough to start getting stupid.

I pulled two bottles out, capped them, and handed them over with a forced smile.

"850 yen," I stated, holding out my hand.

It was funny… one of Leon's eyes was frozen on my chest… the other was staring down at Priss, praying she wouldn't notice. It would've been laughing out loud funny if I hadn't been focusing on the Redhawk holstered on his hip.

Payment was almost an afterthought, and I was going to hang around and eavesdrop… the longer I stood there, the greater the chance of being spotted. It'd be a short and painful conversation anyway.

"So Priss, I guess this shows that we AD-Police aren't as useless as you think," he tried.

"I said I'd let you buy me a drink, I didn't say I'd let you talk to me," Priss shot him down. Brutal, swift, heartless and hilarious. "Later, cowboy."

She took her prize in one hand, giving a shake of her hips as she turned away from him. Leon exhaled, drinking deep from his own bottle. "Well, tomorrow's another day," he reassured himself in his native language.

Poor guy, I thought for a brief guilty moment. It was a pain I remembered well, and thanked God I'd been freed from it. Didn't mean I couldn't enjoy witnessing it in other people however. I sniggered privately as I loaded a rack of dirty glasses to be steam-cleaned.

But Leon was nothing if not persistent. He'd try again. He'd get shot down again He'd try again… lather, rinse, repeat. And to be frank, I was beginning to think Priss really was just playing hard to get…

I wouldn't dare say it to her face, but if she really didn't like Leon, she'd've kicked him square in the nuts a long time ago. Priss didn't strike me as the sort to put up with this sort of persistence, not unless she was actually enjoying it in her own way.

Persistence in this case, might not be futile. All I knew was, I hoped he never started chasing after me… either romantically, or 'professionally'. He would never relent.

I started humming the theme to _The Pink Panther._ Priss signed an autograph… she seemed almost embarrassed to be asked, but the fan was insistent, before settling down to wait for Ken to finish. Leon sat at the bar, brushing off the advances of Isildore as she dropped off more dirty glasses that wanted washing.

His heart was set.

I remembered what that felt like too… but I was past such things now.

I gulped down a can of energy drink, restoring my flagging energy. The repairs to my arm checked out as finished, but I kept the sling for appearances sake. The band were wrapping up with an encore, as the crowd in the bar started to thin. The night was coming to a close, the energy in the hall winding down.

"Hey sweetling," somebody called, "Fill me up will ya?", offering an empty shot glass to me.

He was nobody special. Shades, pale pink shirt, fake stubble, steroids and an aftershave that murdered my pheromone sense. Nobody special, just a chancer, there were plenty of them in this line of work, of both sexes... it's just the male ones are more noticeable. And he called me 'sweetling'...

Wanker.

One of many. Just do your job and ignore him, I told myself.

"And maybe I can fill you up too while I'm at it."

I refused to believe real people actually talked like that, that such obviously stupid statements were nothing more than a 'bad man' stereotype. I refused to believe that someone could be _that_ stupid and think a comment like _that_ would make a good pick-up line... right up until my third day on the job. Of course, women were as bad for it... watch any drunken hen-party... they were just better at hiding it day to day.

He was scuttered drunk anyway... he was just speaking with his beer voice, fuelled by Dutch courage and common sense. It was the same sort of voice that mowed down the cute kid in so many road safety films.

"Drink?"

I was broadcasting my irritation on all channel.

"Just another Aftershock," he said, "And maybe something a little loosening for yourself."

I'd been there, I guess. I could at least be somewhat sympathetic. Alcohol turned even the most level headed and uptight into outright morons sometimes. In his mind he was the king... smooth talking, perfectly sexy, as irresistible as a tsunami.

He was so steaming drunk he could only stand by propping himself up with the bar.

Leon was still there, watching Priss who was watching for her time to strike. The law was the law... and the law decreed that if I had a valid opinion that someone was so blind sozzled they couldn't even walk home, or that they were dangerous, it was illegal to serve them more.

If they called me 'sweetling'... they'd had too much, even if they'd had nothing.

Cutting drunks off however, was always nerve racking. If somebody decided to kick up a fuss, it'd take a while for the boomers to respond. And Officer McNichol was just as likely to shoot me if I tried to defend myself, as arrest the person trying to hurt me. Be polite, but firm. Hold my hands up. This was the part of the job that always made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Nine times out of ten, it was never a problem, but some people just went buggo.

Here goes.

"Sorry man. I cut you off for the night. Too drunk."

I sensed the hot flash of rage, an instant's warning the moment before I felt his hands grip my collar.

Aw shit, not again, I thought, right before I was hoisted by the neck. I gagged for a second, fear tensing my frame. His friend jumped back, distancing himself. I braced for the hit, before realising her was holding me up by both hands. He gave me just enough time to consider this, before slamming me chest first into into the counter.

I grunted in pain, the corner of the countertop jabbing painfully into soft flesh.

Aw fuck...

He pulled me close, thick fingers reefing the collar of my top. He stank of cheap aftershave mingled with alcohol breath, twinged with testosterone and steroid fuelled hate. Any sympathy I might've had for him just being drunk and cocky, dissolved a long time ago.

"Hey man, stop it," I heard is friend say.

"Alright you fucking cunt, I want a fucking drink and I want it fucking now. _Nobody_ refuses _me._"

I wasn't panicking... this had happened before. Just keep cool, the bouncers were on their way. Don't antagonise the situation. He was already on his way out the door, he just didn't know it yet. I was tense... but not scared.

Instead, my software kicked in perfectly.

"How can I show you a good time, if you too drunk?" my voice said, hot and laden with lust. "And too rough."

The bastard took a double take. My hormones were pumping the air, tapping into the lizard brain. I could feel him heating up, blood surging through his body, drunken arousal rising within him. Through the corner of my eye, I could see Leon beginning to stand up.

"Just take shades off, and we'll talk," I purred, my words sweaty and sensual, promising a hot nights nookie. Of course, it was an offer no human could refuse.

"Let her go Brent, I like this place," his friend pleaded, pulling at his jacket.

One of his hands came loose. I didn't pull back. No matter how much I wanted to be away from him, I couldn't jump back. If I tried to escape, all I'd do is break the spell, he'd be pissed and I'd be right back where I started. This was the critical moment. I held my breath. Leon was to his feet the moment the man's glasses came off.

Brent's eyes stared forward.

Eye-contact. I smirked hungrily. I had him. His eyes were wide, bloodshot with lightning streaks of red. I stared into the hard, feeling energy rolling up through my body. His grip released. I stared deep, probing the black depths of his pupils. I could see my own face, grinning victoriously back at me.

"ADPolice! Drop her now!" I heard Leon yell, his voice distant.

Brent's eyes rolled up senselessly, his brain shorting out. He gurgled out something unintelligible, drooling stupidly as his body tried to save itself from falling over, before he fell flat on his face, cracking his skull against the hardwood. He was already out cold before he slid down to the floor.

"Uh..." The ADP Inspector looked down at the drunken mess at his feet, wondering just what had happened. Then, he focused on me, one hand resting on his holster.

Oh hell... I shrunk back down, terror rising in the pit of my stomach.

Not in front of Priss.

"Well, looks like he couldn't hold is drink, then?" he joked brightly.

"Oh fuck me," I breathed, relaxing back against the cash register. My whole body was shaking again.

"You alright Deckard?" Leon offered his hand.

"Unh," I nodded, not wanting to get anywhere near him, "I okay. Just caught surprise." I tried to wave him off. There was no sense of hostility from him, no threat, just a professional concern.

Got away with it. Priss was watching from the shadows. People upstairs had frozen to watch the mini-drama, but the music downstairs rolled on. Ken in the booth hadn't noticed anything at all. Remembering myself, I signalled to the advancing bouncers to remove the pair... point at each one, then to the door...

His friend in the black jacket seemed almost shocked,

"Why me?"

"Blame your friend"

"I suggest you do as she says," advised the police officer.

"You may come back," I assured him. "Bring better friend next time."

It was better than nothing for him. He didn't squeal or protest as he was nudged towards the door, his dignity intact. Brent on the other hand, was carried out in shame.

Being a 33S had its advantages and disadvantages alright... the last few minutes had reminded me of that. Brushing a few strands of hair off my sweaty face, I pulled a beer out of the fridge.

"Free beer?" I offered it to Leon.

It seemed fair, and it'd divert his attention away from me, and what had just happened. Priss herself, had stopped paying attention. It was nothing out of the ordinary... just a normal days work in a bar and music club.

Free beer was a nice way to show appreciation, or cool off an angry performer. The only problem being that drink wasn't free. I paid for it out of my own pocket. That was the carrot. The two sticks were busy showing Brent and his friend the door.

He shrugged "Just doin' my job. Surprised you didn't fight back, though."

"And be shot for it? No thanks"

I deliberately avoided eye contact as I handed the bottle over.

Leon's smile dissolved. "I see." He knew exactly what I was talking about. "Nobody would ever enforce that, you know? Not on someone just defending themselves, anyway."

He was trying to reassure me... and failing.

"It does not change that I can be executed on whim of cowboy," I stated. What a wonderful way to feel worthless. Brent would get a fine for kicking seven shades of shit out of me, while defending myself was a capital offence.

"I see what you mean," Leon stared pensively down into the throat of his bottle. "It sucks, but it's better than the alternative. I've been on the receiving end of boomer syndrome... sometimes it's the only way to stop them."

And that was the thing... the law made sense. Boomer syndrome incidents still made the news every now and then. A cyborg gone wild was just as dangerous as the average coffee-shop boomer, and just as hard to stop.

And that was forgetting the Catch-22 that was my cover.

"It still sucks."

"It's why I opted out of the ADP's assumed consent program." he told me.

I hated this.

"Good band tonight," I changed the subject.

"Yup," he agreed. "Hey, do you have any idea where Priss is going next?"

"Hah!" I barked. "Tell you that and you go there, not here. We lose business."

"But you make up for that with the loyalty of a returning customer, impressed by your honesty," he countered.

"Rainy City Nights, on Jobs and 42nd in district 10," I relented. "Not tell Priss or Ken I tell you or they kill me."

Priss probably... Ken would just fire me.

"Don't worry Deckard, consider it a confidential tipoff," He reassured me, pressing a finger against his nose. "Thanks."

"No problem," I waved it off.

It always paid to keep the person who could shoot you on a whim happy.

The music downstairs finished, the crowd screaming "One more tune," The band stood there, disbelieving. They were a hit. They were popular. The lights went down, blackness falling, save for about 50 neon glowsticks, and a single white spotlight centred on the lead singer.

"Well, that was a hell of a show!" he cheered, his voice hoarse and raucous, and obviously relived.

The crowd answered in kind, whooping up, rolling forward, pushing towards the stage. Blue-hued light sparked off the chromed microphone like miniature lightning.

"God willing, we'll be back here soon. If y'all wanna see us again, gimme a 'Hell yeah!'"

"Hell Yeah!" roared the crowd.

"Gimme a Hell Yeah!"

"Hell Yeah!"

I joined in, feeling the energy roll through me. He certainly knew how to work the crowd. I could sing... pitch perfect, note for note... a technically perfect recreation But I couldn't perform... I couldn't work a crowd, I couldn't own the music, I couldn't do anything but stand there and parrot out the words. Priss had passion, Priss had an energy that infused the crowd and pulled them along with her, into the song... I had all the passion of a refrigerator.

It wasn't programming or anything like that... it was just a skill I didn't have. I hated being on stage anyway, so it didn't matter too much.

"Well," the singer exhaled a long, exhausted sigh, propping himself up with the microphone stand. "You've been great. Good night and God Bless!"

The hall went dark, but the cheers continued long after the band were gone. Isildore was already on her way down to the dressing rooms with post-show refreshments. Priss had invaded the booth, and was giving Ken an almighty ear-bashing, treating anyone watching to a silent comedy from inside the soundproofed booth.

The night's concert was already on the web, ten minutes after it finished. No mixing, just encoding the audio as it came in, then uploading on the fly. It was rough, it was raw, but nobody in the bar believed a 20 year old computer was even capable of such a thing. As far as they knew, its sole purpose was to provide a musical ambience early in the day, and a talking point for those in the know as to what it was.

Revellers drifted outside, hailing taxis, or walking to bus or train station. More glasses were coming back than were going out, and the conversation had dropped to a low hum. Leon waited for Priss to finish, but she managed to evade the officer's attentions.

Nené and Linna appeared for the last hour running down until last orders, clean and dressed up. Priss joined them. I didn't buy the drinks.

"So Meg," Nené slurred, looking up from her pink cocktail… she was a couple of years below the legal age and it showed, "Just how do you manage to look so painfully sexy, even when coated in sweat and black soot?"

"I wondered that too…" Linna joined in.

"Guess I born with it," I shrugged.

Priss corrected, "Built with it."

She was joking, of course, that wry smirk gave it away. We laughed. Something had changed with her… either in the cab of the truck, or some time before that. I wondered what exactly it was… what had changed her mind… before deciding that it didn't matter. I was busy, but I kept an ear out.

"Anyway," Linna followed up, "Why did you have to get your money tonight Priss? I thought you said you weren't in a hurry for it."

"Got caught short by a speeding fine," the biker answered. "And I really wanted to get Sho that laser tag set?"

Sho?

Feeling sickeningly guilty, I fled to the other end of the bar, pretending I had more important things to do around my computer. But it wasn't my problem... it was Sylia's. Sylia would talk to Priss about it, she'd probably already talked to her about it. Anyway, I wasn't supposed to know about what as going to happen... and I don't really know him, have never met him or his mother. It's not my problem.

I might've been condemning a woman I didn't know to death, through my own inaction. So why did it feel worse than seeing all those ADP die yesterday... that first battlesuit Pilot was killed trying to fight the boomer, and I barely gave him a second thought.

I didn't know his name. I didn't see his face. He was just a blue steel robot.

Sho's mother was Priss' friend. Priss was my friend. I was lying to a friend by not telling her.

Of course I couldn't... I knew that. Sylia was right. How do _I_ warn Priss without drawing down some awkward questions. So to save my own ass, I might've been condemning another. I didn't feel _good_ about it, but then again, was it really my fault?

I was only following Sylia's orders.

And they were orders which made perfect sense when viewed through the cold lens of logic.

The others enjoyed their downtime, but I was busy. Nené and Priss loved it... teasing me about how they were going home to nice warm beds an hour ahead of me. But tables had to be cleared, glasses stacked, rubbish picked up, the boomers had to have their behaviour reinforced and I had to get my paycheck.

Priss was snuggled up in a sleeping bag in her trailer. Nené curled beneath pink sheets with her favourite Teddy bear. Linna was probably curled up with her boyfriend. Sylia had a 5-star hotel room, Mackie had a separate one.

I was just getting out the front door. At least my apartment was nearer than it used to be, that was a plus. The night air was cool and crisp, the sky clear. Genaros hung in the sky like a lazy firefly, alone in the sky except for a smog dirtied crescent moon. The city lights washed out the stars with a sickly orange glow.

A few lights on the moon winked back, Aldrin and Gagarin cities looking down one the world. People living on the moon was 'normal', and had been since 2008. It may have been 2am, but late night revellers still staggered through the streets. The roads were empty of traffic, GENOM tower was silhouetted menacingly against the moon.

There were people up there, plotting my death. Well, at 2:20:27 in the morning, they were either doing that, or sleeping peacefully, dreaming of world domination, of being the Bond villain that finally has the nous to say 'Take him outside and shoot him'.

But at 2:21:01 in the morning, the thing I was worried about most was being pulled into a dark alley and being mugged. GENOM was far away in its tower, glowering over the world with it's all seeing eye like a corporate Sauron… and it could bloody well stay there.

I glanced up at some cyberpunk, dressed in a heavy trenchcoat, tarnished cables running from loaded pockets to a hand unit, then onto a skull-jack. He could be an assassin boomer sent to finish what last night's boomer started. Or that woman in high heels marching purposely towards a still open club? A maroon saloon car waited, parked with two wheels up on the footpath… windows darkened… waiting for me? Would I be greeted by a 'gas explosion' when I got home?

I'd go mad if I actually considered how many ways they could kill me. So I didn't. Neither did the other Knight Sabers. Nobody'd set foot outside their own front door if they did. Besides, at this time of night, in this part of town, I was more likely to be pulled into a dark alley and mugged… or worse.

I pulled my jacket tight around me, the night air chilled compared to the day. A sharp breeze stirred up the dust, cold air rolling in from the bay. A half hour or so, and I'd be in bed asleep. Another day over. I had to be up early in the morning, to help set up the equipment in _The Panty Drawer_, as the new base was nicknamed. Then back to work, life's routine rolled on.

Regardless of what someone in that Tower wanted to do to me, I still had to get up in the morning.

Damn I was tired.

Not human tired. It felt more like being drunk. Fatigue screwed with my synapses, chemical checks and balances starting go off-kilter as electrolytes were used up. Sleep would restore the balance, like recharging the mental batteries.

Behind me, I heard an engine crank to life, rattling and revving. I glanced quickly over my shoulder, seeing that same maroon saloon begin to creep forward, gravel on the road crunching under the tyres.

For a moment, I half expected it to lunge forward and run me down like a stray dog, but put it out of mind as nothing more than paranoia. It was just another car. I glanced down a dark side street, peering under a rusting fire-escape… just in case. I really didn't want to get the shit kicked out of me by cyber-addled psychotics teetering on the edge of boomer syndrome over the sake of a few hundred yen.

There was nobody down there but a few homeless, clinging to their cardboard boxes, the consequences of rapid boomerisation of menial jobs. They were the detritus of progress.

At least I wasn't one of them…

I glanced down at my shadow, bemused as it seemed to grow suddenly long. I wonder why for a brief moment, before the droning buzz of an economy engine pushed to its max reared up behind me.

Spinning round on the ball of my foot, and came face to face with blinding blue headlights, light swallowing me whole.

A car, aimed right for me…

Mason was here.

Mason was attacking me.

And the others?

Oh bloody hell…

Panic burned in my body, scant seconds remaining before impact. The driver grabbed another gear, engine snarling hungrily forward. Neon lights played off a murderously grinning grill, ready to swallow me whole.

I swallowed bile.

GENOM was making its final move. A brilliant one. Just an accident. Squish. Someone was trying to kill me… Kill _me…_

Run! My mind screamed, but for a few terrifying moments, my body just didn't want to answer. It rooted itself to the spot, bracing for impact.

Move dammit… move!

I screwed my eyes shut, not wanting to see myself explode across a bonnet.

Finally, my legs answered the commands. I jumped towards the alleyway, diving desperately towards safety. The car roared up behind, coming perilously close. I waited for the impact, a wet, meaty smack followed by the crunch of bone.

It brushed against my heel, blasting past behind me. Brakes squealed on as I hit the dirt, rolling in the grit. Tyres tore against tarmac, the smell of burning rubber tainting the air. A rush of cold air filled the vacuum behind the passing vehicle.

It hit the opposite wall hard, the explosive impact followed by the gush of shattering glass and the death rattles of a stalling engine.

Silence reigned for a moment.

I pushed myself upright, sitting on the wet concrete, cold dampness soaking through the seat of my jeans. My whole body was shivering, my limbs light and tingling. The wreck squatted half on the road, half on the footpath, carbon black skidmarks tracing its path towards the corner of the building to my left. Concrete was scratched and chipped where it had hit, a trail of debris splashed across the ground, following back to the wreck, still sitting there, bleeding vital fluids onto the road.

Fear frozen, I waited for the boomer inside to spring free and finish the job.

Nothing… Only the trickle of water from a punctured radiator. The headlights guttered and died… the vehicle and its driver were silent, a bloodied splash of cracked glass marking the point where head and windscreen had made contact.

I sat there.

"You alright?"

A voice behind me, gravelled and phlegmy.

"They tried to kill me…" I whispered.

I felt physically sick.

"Somebody call the police!" I heard coming from the mouth of the alleyway, "Send an ambulance."

"I'm alright," I answered weakly.

"Looks like a drunk driver," the first voice opined. "I'd say you were pretty lucky not to get pinned between car and wall."

Too bloody lucky.

That was twice in the space of two days.

I turned around. A homeless guy, dirty and dishevelled, in clothes that might've been older than I was, and holier than the Pope… but with a soothing light behind his eyes the seemed to burn through the fear.

"I'd say the driver messed himself up pretty good, though."

"Uh... "

People were starting to crowd around, drawn by the spectacle, the possibility of death. Sirens started to rise in the distance as I pushed myself shakily to my feet. I thought about calling Sylia about this… it was an attempt on the life of a Knight Saber, the sort of thing we were supposed to call in about… But I was sure this wasn't GENOM.

Or was it?

If it was… Why wasn't there a combat boomer ripping me and every bystander to mincemeat? Against sane judgement I crept forward, ready to bolt away running at the first sign of trouble. Cautiously leaning against the bent frame of the passenger's door, I pushed the shattered window into the cabin.

The car stank of alcohol forming a nauseous cocktail with suffocating sweatiness, almost like the car had been loaded with expensive cheese. Sitting slumped over a smashed steering wheel was the driver, blood-streaked face stoved in. Still, I recognised him immediately.

He wasn't with GENOM… It was the man I'd thrown out of Hot Legs hours before. I never thought I'd be so relieved to have to have someone try to kill me…

"Stupid ass," I sighed, resting my head against the roof of the car.

Straw coloured liquid leaked from the ear, and I could hear his rasping, shallow breathing. Chest had impacted steering wheel. Head had impacted windshield. He hadn't even been wearing a seatbelt.

He'd survived; I could hear his rasping, shallow breaths.

"Stupid ass."

My whole body went numb beneath me, strength draining through my legs. I slumped down to the roadway, leaning back against the wreck. I was shaking… really shaking. This wasn't the enemy, it wasn't GENOM, just a random drunken asshat.

I wanted to laugh out loud at how close he'd gotten.

It was… absurd…

And terrifying enough that I was on the verge of tears.

But still so absurd, it was hard to believe it had actually just happened. Bystanders were already gathering around, some picking away at the car, trying to open the driver's door, asking if he was okay, taking pictures of the scene with their cameraphones for immediate web upload.

"Hey, is she okay?" someone asked.

"Damn she's hot," another answered.

I get chased through the city on a motorcycle and crash at speed. I live through that with a broken leg. I get half electrocuted to death by an assassin boomer, then blown up by my own grenade. A day later there wasn't even a mark. I stare down the barrel of a boomer's cannon, and the only thing I had to show for it was some chemical contamination in the blood thanks to the smoke.

And then I nearly get splattered by a drunk driver.

Just a random act.

I'd graduated to main character status, and still nearly got wiped out by some spur of the moment attack fuelled by dipsomaniacal anger. It was a hammer to my own self security. A battleboomer I could handle. A battleboomer was planned. A battleboomer was expected. I could deal with the expected.

A drunk driver I'd thrown out of the bar a few hours earlier getting snitty and trying to run me over? That was just... something that could happen to anyone, not a Knight Saber. Hell, if I'd refused to join, it might still have happened.

I agree to be a Knight Saber, accepting the danger... but it's my day job that comes closest to killing me.

How terrifyingly ironic.

The ambulance arrived first, paramedics clambering into the wreck to check on the groaning driver. The police followed next, took five minutes to realise I was a boomeroid, then palmed it over to the ADP because they couldn't have been arsed dealing with an accident that close to the end of their shift. The ADP wanted nothing to do with a drunk driver, it was beneath their jurisdiction. That became a half hour radio shouting match as both sides ramped up through various levels of officialdom. The fire brigade just got on with the business of cutting the car apart to get the driver out. Eventually, attempted murder was ruled out… they'd never prove it, they just informed him he was being arrested for drunk driving, and loaded him onto an ambulance. They took a single paragraph statement from me… just going through the motions for the sake of procedure… they obviously would rather have been in the station.

You and me too, I thought. I wanted desperately to just go home.

I didn't get through my front door until after 4 in the morning.

Linna would be arriving around 7am to give me a lift to the Panty Drawer.

It was barely worth my while going to bed. Besides, I was still rattled enough that I didn't really feel like sleeping anyway. Even an hour later, my heart was still racing, little chills running through my body. The sun was already rising up over the bay, the eastern sky turning a ruddy red.

Fucking wanker of a drunk.

-----

The only thing Tuesday had to show for it was that I answered the door for Linna, naked and still dripping wet. The poor woman nearly fainted... I loved that effect. Other than that, it was a pretty normal day. Morning traffic was hellacious, as usual. Nené was cleaning the hardsuits with a toothbrush, I was trying to calibrate a CNC machine, Priss was making sure the motorslaves had survived beneath their coat of soot, Sylia was trying to resurrect her databases, and Linna was trying to look busy.

All to varying degrees of success.

Priss was called away by Sylia for a quick chat, and I resolved to find the time some day soon to go browsing at a second hand bike shop to find something to get around the city while I was waiting for Raven to finish my bike. The Panty Drawer was so far out, it was an hour by public transport, I had to be mobile _somehow_.

I'd even convinced myself I could afford it, if I worked a few extra hours, negotiated a good HP deal and wasn't too worried about road safety or paying for insurance.

Priss was first to leave, too... hurrying off to rehearse with her band... and to Sho's birthday. Linna had classes to run, and I still had a bar to look after. Nené still had the hardsuits to clean... and that was starting to seem like less of a punishment and more like a relief from actual work. Well _some_ of us had real jobs to do, and anyway, I could use the time to browse the web and look for something affordable. Sylia pulled me aside as I was about to leave.

"I've talked to Priss." she told me. "And dropped a few hints. Without knowing when or how it will happen, that's all I can do."

True.

"But it still doesn't mean I feel good about it."

"That's the world we live in, Meg," she placed a hand on my shoulder, "We can't take direct action, we can't risk ourselves for one person, not in these circumstances. But we can still hope."

We had two hopes... Bob and none.

It really was a one in a million shot. Sure Sylia'd planted the seed of an idea in Priss' mind, but I didn't hold out much hope of Priss realising anything until after the fact. Nobody would, not until after the fact anyway.

Somebody fired up a car behind me, and I threw back a nervous glance for a moment, my heart clenching with fear for the briefest moment. Just someone in a cheap GENOM made compact burbling away to wherever they were burbling away to.

Hah!

No conspiracy, no secret death plots or silent assassins... just being in the right place at the wrong time. I couldn't stop laughing at the ridiculous irony of it. I was still trying not to giggle at work, even though I spent most of the afternoon browsing through online dealership listings. It was amazing how far the 150k I thought I could afford would go

Especially considering next year's hot superbikes back in 2010 were now 22 year old hundred-thousand kilometre budget 'classics'.

Something interesting caught my eye. I rang the dealer, and arranged to buy it Thursday morning. Then got back to work for the rest of an ordinary night. Nobody tried to kill me.

-----

Wednesday was a day of anticipation. Anticipating Mason's next move. Anticipating the chirping from my watch, telling me to head to base. Anticipating wearing my hardsuit in anger for the first time Anticipating my new bike.

But there were no reports on the radio of injuries during a demolition. Just a quiet news story about another ADP officer getting killed, and a new government privatised-welfare scheme to deal with homeless.

The Replicants played their final concert at _Hot Legs. _They finished with with the first song they'd played at their first concert... a cover of _Time_ _What is Time_ by Blind Guardian.

Wednesday couldn't end fast enough.

I desperately wanted to show Priss my new-ish bike. And I hoped she'd be able to take Sylia's hint.

Well, Thursday would be fun.

-----

The bike sat there in the morning sun, freshly washed, its colours the same yellow and black as my hardsuit. Black paint had flaked from the frame and engine, leaving white speckles of oxidised alloy visible. The tyres were a little worn, the front brake disks had a lip, the rear shock was weeping from its seals. There were obvious signs of it having been dropped on its right side some time in the past, engine casings and part of the air intakes having had chunks torn out of them. It smoked a little when it started, sounded a little tappety when it ran and the rear brake master cylinder was leaking tea-coloured fluid.

It looked 20 years old alright, its overall tattiness causing it to stand out among the shinier, more modern machines. A green 2028 Ninja... not too dissimilar from Priss' bike, looked down on it with scorn. But the price was right, it was big, it was comfy and it had a good badge. I'd gotten my old K100 for much the same reasons.

I sucked a long breath through my teeth, trying to seem as if I still had to be convinced to pay for it. "One, three five, that's my final offer."

I held the dealers gaze. I wasn't above using my sexaroid abilities to get a few quid off the price of a bike.

"One seven five," said the dealer gruffly. "It's the first modern superbike, it is a true classic. I can't let it go for less."

I feigned a sigh, glancing over at the machine again, giving him a few moments to recover.

"One fifty," I said, my voice promising the remainder would be made up in a much more personal fashion. I locked his gaze once more, drawing him in. I could feel the blood pumping through his body, smell the lust hiding beneath the professional mask. He gulped and swallowed... adjusting his tie. He wasn't supposed to feel like _that_ when dealing with a customer.

I'm getting in the way of your judgement, amn't I?

I'm distracting you.

Each breath I take breaks your concentration.

The salesman was sweating in his suit. His name tag read 'Hugh Mann, How may I help you?' My eyes asked him 'How may I _service_ you?'

Not that I would...

"Alright, but only for a special woman such as yourself."

I let him relax for good this time, gleefully shaking his hand. Victory was mine. He was just glad to have me scan my credit card through his reader and complete the sale. I almost felt sorry for him. Against the will of a 33S, no human had a chance. Resistance was futile.

And at least he was treated to the sight of me in my leathers as I rode off... the same leathers I'd worn a few weeks earlier, with the same two holes where that assassin's nails had gone through.

I'd bought a K1200R... a bit bigger than my old K100, a lot faster, though without any sort of fairing, just a little flyscreen. It felt its age of course, worn suspension bouncing off of bumps and the brakes squealing even with a gentle touch, but the engine still pulled hard, the exhaust note was a sonorous, growling bliss. It felt like my K100, just shifted forward by 20 years.

Which is basically exactly what it was.

Money well spent, really.

It was nice not to have to rely on public transport. It'd make getting to the panty drawer so much easier. It was nice to have the freedom to go anywhere I wanted in the city... especially considering that with how old the machine is, it was exempt from roadworthiness testing, and road taxes and insurance would be cheap.

"I am free now," I told myself, driving down the off-ramp to towards the docks.

It meant I was also late, of course, but that was excusable. Besides, I wasn't the only one... there was no sign of Priss' motorbike outside, either. A bit too much of an aftershow party last night? They were still going at it celebrating when I'd left the job.

I pulled up in the back alley behind the building, chaining the bike to Silky Wagon. The front shutters were down, so I went in the back door, punching a code into a keypad to unlock it. Inside, it was a warehouse, plain and simple, boxes of panties stacked 6 by 3 on pallets. Heaven for any Happosais out there, but the real goodies were behind a secret door masquerading as an electrical panel.

Another code into another keypad, and the panel opened to a poorly lit stairwell, designed to be deliberately uninviting to any uninvited guests. The base itself had been set up in what had once been a subway station on Paradise loop... it even took its power from the former third rail. What had once been a ticket booth was now a locker room. An old vending machine... powered off but still with pre-2025 Coke for sale loitered beside a milling machine, a nanotech assembler tank and several construction racks and jigs. The 8-wheeler was parked where the subway tracks had used to be, pointing forward down a tunnel to where it broke out in the fault, 2 kilometres away.

The hardsuits themselves where standing, 3 polished, 2 still dirty, and 1 ADP operator busy slopping the yellow one down with soapy water, massaging the dirt out of every crevice.

"Work sets you free, Nené!" I greeted with a smirk.

She stuck her tongue out at me.

"Easy for you to say, Miss sleep-it-in. Aren't boomeroids supposed to have onboard alarm clocks?"

I laughed, "Yeah, but I had other business this morning," I pointed to my black leather getup.

"Bondage at this hour?" she giggled.

I narrowed my eyes.

"I bought a new bike," I stated flatly.

"Oh," Her eyes had the devil's malicious glow in them. I had the awful feeling I was going to be getting some speeding tickets sometime soon, or stopped for a 'random search'.

"Besides, I needed a good ride," I rolled with the joke anyway.

Nené ran a soapy hand through her hair, pushing a few locks off of her face.

"Speaking of ride, guess where Linna is?"

"Boyfriend?"

Obviously.

"Yup," she declared.

"Isn't there Knight Saber code against that?"

"Yup," the expression on her face hardened into cold fire that might've burned Sylia. "And I will carry out the punishment personally." She clenched her fist tightly, violently, manicured nails biting into her palm. Grimly, she stared into my eyes, leaving me no doubt that she'd do it swiftly and without remorse.

"Jealous?" I prodded.

Nené reddened. "NO!" she shrieked, flinging a soapy sponge through a sodden arc, aimed right for a spot 2 feet to the left of my head.

I deadpanned "Nice miss."

Nené picked up the bucket of black water, standing there, shivering with rage. Good thing these leathers are waterproof, I reminded myself. Nené was cute when she fumed... "We can't all have cyberoptics."

I knew I'd regret it later, even as I laughed and giggled, I could see Nené plotting revenge. But I had work to do. My hardsuit needed to be checked and tested, and I had to get back into the swing of training.

Sylia was waiting for me, naked, in the former ticket booth.

"Good morning, Meg," she greeted serenely, unfolding her softsuit.

Sylia's locker was as regimented and orderly as Sylia herself. Three folded softsuits, some underwear, a swimsuit, and an old photograph of Sylia's family from when she was younger. It was surprisingly natural.

"Sparring match?" I asked.

"I thought it would be a good workout for the suits, as well as being refreshing."

"Sweet," I smirked.

Getting my arse kicked in armour was altogether more fun than getting my arse kicked in person. We just had to wait until Nené finished.

"_In international news_," said the radio newscaster... a digital personality, _"Citing the recent accidental discharges of USSD particle cannons, the atomic posturing in the Indian sub-continent, along with the rising level of global warfare as well as societal pressures in the Third World from rising cyberdroid utilisation the International Bulletin of Atomic scientists in a ceremony in New York last night have moved the Doomsday Clock 1 minute closer to midnight. The clock now stands at 2 minutes to midnight, the closest to midnight since 1984. Midnight represents the destruction of the human race."_

"Two minutes to midnight," I sighed. "The hands that threaten doom."

Sylia gave me a quizzical look, wondering where she'd heard that one before.

"_Climate scientists have declared that they have no good explanation for the continuing accelerating increase in global temperatures, despite a 20% reduction in Carbon emissions. Research sponsored by the Gulf and Bradley corporation has suggested the problem will be best mitigated by the continuing adoption of grain fuels, further reducing the level of CO2 in the atmosphere."_

So it was true... all the research claiming climate change was caused by global CO2 _was _being sponsored by the corporations and governments that had the most to gain from it.

"_In local news, one ADP officer was killed last night while responding to an armed robbery. 5 suspects have been arrested, 3 were killed."_

Another Dead Policeman.

"_The city council today granted land rights to GENOM corporation in Ota as part of the ongoing Technological Integrated Economic City program. The program promises increased living standards, along with a rejuvenation of the affected areas, and a reduction in crime and lawlessness."_

And the march of the corporatocracy continues.

"_Tragedy struck today in Ota ward when a woman was killed during the demolition of a condemned block of survivor housing. Authorities have withheld the name until family members have been contacted."_

Silence.

Awful silence.

Even the radio just hissed.

I looked up at Sylia, she looked down at me. Chills ran through my body.

"That's that," I simply said, resisting the urge to say something far more colourful.

"Unfortunately," she added, before hardening, the dark, cool, calculating part of her personality rearing it's head. "But we cannot blame ourselves, after all, we are not the ones who unleash the boomers on the city. We are not the ones who started the demolition. We attack GENOM tower tonight."

I sat down on the bench, placing my hands in my lap, softsuit hanging limply in my grip. I let her die. It would've been so easy to save her, but I still let her die. Sylia was right, of course, but that didn't stop me from feeling ashamed about it.

"Until then?"

"We carry on as normal. Go to work. I'll page you when it's time."

"Uhuh," I nodded.

I stood up, legs like rubber, and dressed into my innerwear. It seemed strangely tight, pushing on my stomach. Butterflies weren't just fluttering, they were taking deep, sharp bites out of my stomach.

"What happened?" wondered Nené, as I stepped out of the booth.

"Nothing at all," I said.

Nené knew better, but decided not to bother finding out. She was nearly finished with the suit, anyways.

I'd spar with Sylia. I'd loose. Then I'd go to work. I'd be preoccupied. Tonight, I'd be charging up the flanks of GENOM tower. Mason would die. Or I would. That was that.

-----

I got my ass handed to me by Sylia.

As expected.

My mind was elsewhere anyways. I rode home, suddenly not feeling as proud of my new bike as I had a few hours earlier. I found time to run a few 'self-diagnostics'... to use a polite turn of phrase, before having a refreshing shower, and then riding to work.

The radio repeated its broadcast... on the hour, every hour. Sho's mother was never named... just '1 killed in demolition accident'. She was just 1 among millions. Her few moments of posthumous fame ended during the 4pm bulletin, when her spot on the news was taken by someone who had the misfortune of being run over by a bus, and was holding up traffic in district 10.

Such was life and death in Megatokyo. Many didn't even get that notification.

Work was work... it was never anything else. I made it known that I was expecting an emergency call, and might have to duck out at short notice. Then I got on with business in a low cut top and figure hugging miniskirt, trying not to think about what plans I had for later that night.

I failed.

I _wanted_ to go now. I wanted to get it over with. I wanted to do something awesome. I didn't want to die. I didn't want to get everyone killed.

Time ground on.

Minutes became hours, hours became days. I just waited for my watch to start beeping. And then I'd go. Excitement warred with sheer terror was clamouring with the anticipation of actually blowing up a boomer like I'd been practising for the last month.

9... 10... 11.

Nothing.

The band were raging against the GENOM machine... I think I recognised the lead singer, but I couldn't remember from where. Senor, I think his name was, something French anyway. He was a beast with a guitar. Ken was in his usual place at the mixing desk. Isildore was running glasses to and from the bar. One of the lights had failed.

11:33:42

Everything was normal. My 5-second moving average heart rate was 64 beats a minute. My blood pressure was a little high, but still green. I was breathing fine, even if I was getting warnings about the smoky atmosphere. There was arsenic in my bloodstream, along a cocktail of a hundred other chemicals from the city's air. It wasn't a problem yet, but it was something to keep an eye on. A drunk fell down, dragging her boyfriends pants with her, someone spilled a drink and I was busy trying to find a non-empty bottle of whiskey, hoping to save myself a trip down to the cellar.

11:33:43

My watch started to beep, turquoise backlight flashing. It might've been lost in the retrothrash light show, had the music not died down for a brief interlude between songs.

COME1, it signalled. Come to Base 1, the Panty Drawer. No time followed. Which meant come as soon as possible.

AFFMD, I signalled back. AFF for "Affirmative", and MD being my initials.

There was only so much you could say with a 5 element LCD display. Of course there was only so much that had to be said. And that was that. No fear, no apprehension, just a cool acceptance. I knew what I had to do, and I was going to do it. It might've been the last thing I'd ever do... but I was still going to do it.

I called Isildore over to take over, tapped on the booth window to let Ken know I was leaving. I didn't bother to change out of my workwear, instead just slipping into my leathers. That was as bad an idea as it sounded, rough cowhide on bare skin not exactly being an ideal situation. The bike started, coughing a little before catching.

I wasn't even aware of the ride to the docklands. My mind was miles away, and hours ahead. I was watching myself charge up the Tower, thundering forward on the back of a motorslave, charging towards the same boomer who'd aimed it's weapon at me...

I could still see down the throat of its barrel.

It was nearing midnight

This could well be the end of my last day on Earth. It was more an acknowledgement of that fact, rather than any sort of sobering thought. I was scared alright. Tremors of fear darted through my frame. But that the same time, I was fighting the urge to belt forward at full speed. I wanted to do this. I wanted to fight with the Sabers... I wanted to fight with my friends and win.

The roads were empty.

The city was quiet.

The Tower never slept. But even _it_ was resting outside of office hours. A few late offices were lit, spotlights on the roof announcing GENOM's aim to reach for the stars themselves, but otherwise, the Tower was dark.

Hiding in the dark spaces between street lights, Megatokyo's night life oozed out. Pimps and prostitutes, junkies and pushers, gangsters, punks, old android sex-boomers barely standing on shaky legs and neon-eyed boomeroids adjusting their own programming, barely hanging onto the last dregs of their sanity. Nobody gave a damn about them. They were the rust bubbling up under the city's shiny new coat of corporate paint. I gassed the bike, not wanting to risk having anything to do with them either.

The docklands stank of low-tide... that unique mix of rotting fish, salt, damp engine oil and sewerage that destroyed appetites and sickened children. I pulled the bike down the same back alley, guessing that I was the first to arrive. Only the Silky Wagon was waiting outside in the same place it had been that morning, sporting fresh graffiti announcing that _Bango_ _Skank_ had been there.

I parked my bike indoors, the back door being just wide enough to fit it through, and congratulated myself for my flash of inspiration. I chained it up to a rusting roof support, before pausing.

Do I really want to go forward?

No question about it.

This was my life. I was a Knight Saber. This is what we do.

After all the work, all the training and testing. After Mason had tried to kill me, after he had hurt Sylia, had hurt my friend, and destroyed her home. After I'd let him kill someone else... I wanted to fight.

It wasn't that long ago, I was actively praying to avoid this sort of lifestyle.

The secret door pulled open, the same dark stairway leading down. I could hear the radio, and the rattle of the truck's diesel engine. Turbines whistled as it was revved up, the smell of exhaust rising up the stairwell.

"I took the limiter off!" Mackie shouted, "It'll do 200... easily."

"Good. The faster it can go, the easier it will be for you to escape."

Sylia was already in her hardsuit, I doubted she'd taken it off at all since I left that afternoon. My own suit was hanging open as I'd left it, supported on its hanger. I heard a car pull up outside, followed by the thump of two doors slamming shut.

This was it.

"I'm here," I announced, stepping onto the white tiles of what had once been the station platform.

"Get suited up," ordered Sylia. "We'll brief when the others arrive."

I nodded, speechless. Her gaze was solid glacier ice, hard, cold and crushing. She was in full mission mode, beyond anger, beyond hate. Mason would die by sheer force of her will.

"Why are we being called so late?" Linna asked at the top of the stairs, holding back on a yawn. "I was with my boyfriend."

"Nothing on ADP radio about a boomer rampage," Nené's voice followed her. Nocturnal Nené sounded wide awake.

Mackie was up in the driver's seat of the truck, checking and rechecking systems. The side panels of the cargo area where swung open, showing the motorslaves mounted inside. There were five of them, one brand spanking new. The new one wasn't my own, but Priss'. On a table, laid out quickly between two former benches, was a 3-D projector, surrounded by paper maps. The air was hot, dry and loaded with diesel fuelled expectations.

My joints were tingling.

Four hardsuits gleamed under the overhead lights, ready for action.

I wanted a drink so bad, 7 year old Coke actually seemed like a good idea.

"We're here Sylia," Linna said, breathlessly. "Sorry it took so long, I was busy."

She was more than busy. I could smell it. I could feel it. She'd been caught right in the middle of the act.

"I was in the middle of a shift," complained the pink haired girl beside her, "And it's only a matter of time before they get suspicious about how many aunties I have."

"Suit up, we'll brief when you're all ready."

They looked to me, wondering if maybe she'd told me something before they'd gotten here.

"Do not know anything," I shrugged, lying. "Just get here to."

"Where's Priss," asked Nené, peering into the truck, then over at the ticket booth.

"She'll come in her own time," answered our leader.

And then we kick arse! I cheered in my own mind.

Getting into a softsuit was routine, as was providing a little bit of fan service to the camera hidden in a crack in the ceiling. A nice, stretching yawn should do it, throwing my figure into relief against the overhead lights..

"What's so funny?" Nené asked beside me, gently nudging my back with her elbow.

"Nothing."

I struggled to hide the smirk. There was just something so damn funny about bothering the innocent with my body, or for that matter, giving the guilty a lot more than they expected.

"It's not nothing," she tried to stare me down. She may just have been an operator, but Nené was also a cop. She'd had the same training, "You're enjoying this."

'This', being her and Linna's naked bodies.

""It my first time," I lied again. "Mission I mean… eh… In hardsuit. Just excited."

"Relax Nené, Meg isn't a lesbian ready to gobble you up," Linna reassured, leaning over her, naked bodies brushing together. "No more than she's a kangaroo."

I barked "Haha."

Nené went terribly quiet, deflating and dropping into herself like a burst balloon. She stared down at her own hands, halfway through pulling her own softsuit on. I could sense a nauseating mix of confusion shame running through her, permeating the atmosphere. She stood there while Linna giggled, looking like she'd just realised she'd left the gas on at home, and a candle lit in the bathroom. It was that same uncomfortable look of dreaded realisation.

"I just proud of body," I said, trying to distract her, throwing a sparkling grin.

Nené curled up, almost inside herself.

"The only thing bigger than your boobs is your ego," the dancer looming over her giggled. "At least my body is au naturale."

Nené whimpered slightly, glancing between us.

Her mind was spinning through loops of confusion. Why? I wasn't actively pushing my sexuality. I wasn't _trying_ to mess with her head. I wished I knew what had suddenly started bothering her, but I was a mood reader, not a mind reader.

I sighed and decided not to worry about it. It was probably just my pheromones screwing with her head. Besides, Linna was right. I wasn't a lesbian. I wasn't anything but a 33S.

Innerwear on, it was only my hardsuit that remained. I was calm boarding the suit. I knew the procedure by heart. It was no different to any other time I'd worn it in training. Leg in, pull it up, Arms in, settle the chest, then push the switch and it all seals up. It was only when the collar of the hardsuit finally snapped together around my neck that it started to really hit home.

I was going to actually fight in this thing.

Oh bloody hell.

I could feel my confidence begin to melt, pooling somewhere in the pit of my stomach. I could taste fear rising up to back of my throat. I could hear supercapacitors whining as they charged, 1-2 gun lasers in the arm ready to fire. Jump jets started to pressurise, compressors whirring to life.

Don't boost-jump into the ceiling, I warned myself.

Linna was boarding her suit as I stepped off the hanger.

"Um..." confidence building time, "Kick time to GENOM arse!"

3 women looked at me, unconvinced. Neither was I. My lip was quivering. My 1-2gun had blown holes in armour plates inches thick. And I'd be charging into the teeth of weapons that could do the same to me...

Linna was calmly stepping into her suit, as easily as she'd step into a leotard before a performance. "Scared?"

"A little," I said. And more every second. "I getting use be shot at."

I tried to give a false laugh, but it probably only confirmed her feelings.

"Well, you wouldn't be human if you didn't feel scared."

"Hah!" I spluttered. "I'm not human."

And a wore a cat's grin to prove it.

"But that depends on how you define humanity," she countered, "And I think we've had this conversation before."

Nené shuffled into her hardsuit without even a word, blushing as she glanced at the pair of us. Why was she so embarrassed? What was fuelling the shame-filled heat behind her cheeks? I pondered it for a few seconds, parsing the symptoms afflicting the youngest Knight Saber.

A single answer popped out.

She was afraid. She was ashamed. Why?

Because she's realised she's physically attracted to me, and is worried that she's a lesbian, and, more importantly, terrified of what would happen if I found out.

My mind paused for a beat.

It started as a gentle twitter, hidden by an armoured glove over my mouth. It grew quickly into an explosive cackle. The others nearly jumped out of their armour, turning as one to face me.

"What's so funny?" enquired Nené, terror flashing across her features. Did I know? Fear flashed in her eyes.

Of course I did.

"There's no need to be afraid, Nené," Linna teased with mocking reassurance, "It's just like every other mission where you stand behind us."

Nené didn't bite, she just whimpered weakly and reached for her helmet, seeking solace and safety within its ceramic shell. My own helmet was still resting on the table, waiting for me. I reached for it, holding my hand over the shell.

I licked my lips, my mouth parching dry.

I'll wait before putting it on.

I turned away, spinning gracelessly on the toe of one solid boot.

"So what's the mission, Sylia," Linna asked a question I already knew the answer too.

A small pang of guilt dug deep but I shook it off. I didn't kill her. It wasn't my fault. I was ordered not to get involved. Sylia was right.

"Yeah, why were we called here so early?" asked the pink hardsuit, confidence restored by privacy.

Sylia stopped what she was doing immediately, pushing back from the computer screen she'd been viewing. For a moment, I could make out a wireframe model of GENOM tower, with two paths marked up its flanks. One, coloured orange, dove into the core of the building, before zig-zagging through the structure. The other ran straight along the spiral highway to the summit. Before I could read any of the onscreen notes however, it flickered to a blank screen saver.

_No peeking Meg_, warned a cheeky line of red text, too small for the others to read.

I hated bloody surprises.

Was it just me, or were those surprises always of the deadly sort?

Sylia gave a languid sigh, checking whether or not a few blinkenlights on the keyboard were right. A small yellow button annunciated itself. Sylia acknowledged it calmly, silencing it with a single push.

"Priss called me earlier today." she started, turning to face us. She radiated cold, restrained fury. It was that same acetylene torch of anger I'd first first met in her apartment, hot enough to cut through steel, fuelled by hate, but mixed with a deadly control and focused into a powerful tool of vengeance.

Her eyes cut through the soul, cut through fear. Her gaze was sheer, brutal murderous determination. Mason was going to die tonight. There was no doubt about it. My whole body was thrilled with excitement...

With that hatred at our disposal, how could we loose?

"A friend of hers died today, killed in a building collapse in Ota."

"I heard about that at work," Nené said, sadly bowing her head, "I dispatched the ambulance to the scene."

"It was on the news earlier," I added, swallowing another lump of guilt.

I might not have been able to save her life... but I could at least make it right by doing this.

"Priss paged me earlier," continue Sylia, still as coolly furious as ever. "Telling me that she was taking her hardsuit, and there was no damn way in hell I was going to stop her."

Linna shivered. "Not rule 11?" With that look in Sylia's eyes, how could it be anything else? Well, that's what I'd've been thinking in her place. "I can't kill Priss."

"No Linna," Sylia's expression thawed, "We're not going after Priss. We're going to kill Brian J. Mason."

And oh how she loved saying those words. I wondered just how many years she's spent arranging that sentence in her mind, how many times she'd imagined saying it. She had just pronounced Brian J. Mason's death sentence.

My fears were gone, blown away like a bad smell in a hurricane. I was rared up and ready to go. I could feel my heartbeat drumming against the inside of my chest, power and energy surging through my body. I was going to fight, and I was going to win.

"Can we do that?" Nené asked, popping her hardsuit visor up. "I mean..." she struggled to find the right words, "We're going to _murder_ him. I didn't join the Knight Sabers to kill people, no matter how evil."

And a few days earlier, Nené had been demanding the Sabers strike back at GENOM.

"I won't force you to come, Nené." Sylia reassured her, "I won't force any of you to get blood on your hands. If any of you three wish to back out now, I won't hold..."

Linna didn't even wait for the white Knight Saber to finish speaking "I'm in."

"Me too," I chorused with Nené, in finest AOL tradition.

For the briefest moment, Sylia almost seemed taken aback by our enthusiasm. Had she expected someone to say no?

"Thank you," she offered us a grateful bow, "I was about to say that I wouldn't hold it against any of you if you backed out. We work on mutual consent, after all."

"I guess, we have to fight together Mason," I said, for a moment wondering why she'd been looking at me.

Was I the one she'd expected to pull out? What a nice way to chip away at my confidence.

"We fight for each other," affirmed the green Saber, phrasing it better.

They'd fight for me. I wanted to fight for them.

I could sense Sylia's anger dissolving. If I didn't know better, I'd swear she was about to cry. But then, this was as much about her own revenge, as it was about doing it for Priss. This moment was why I was a Knight Saber.

Nobody else but me heard another bike burble to a halt upstairs. Linna gave a start as she heard the electrical panel slam shut above, Nené oblivious as she ran diagnostics on her suit. Sylia gave a short smile as she heard footsteps come stamping down to meet use, rolling forward on a wave of fury.

"I'm here," Priss announced, chasing her own pheromones. Her red jacket was stained with concrete dust. She looked like she'd been blasted by a sandstorm

Unlike Sylia, who was always controlled, Priss' anger blazed like a firestorm, feeding itself, drawing all in around her. It blew itself out the moment she saw the four of us waiting for her.

"You're all.... here."

Her eyes couldn't believe what they were seeing.

"Of course we are," Linna said.

She was the best at things like that, wasn't she.

"Mason's hurt us all," Sylia told the singer. "Attacking our friends, our livelihoods, even our homes. It's time we fought back."

"Yes," snarled Priss, the word rolling off her tongue. In her minds eye, she was closing her hands around his throat already. In reality, it looked like she was trying to squeeze an invisible balloon.

"One thing is for sure, Brian J. Mason will not survive the night. He is expecting us, he has been goading us to attack him, and he has prepared his defences well. He _thinks _he is drawing us into a trap."

She left an instant for that to sink in.

"His overconfidence shall be his undoing," A single press of a button and the map of the Tower snapped back into view on the screen behind her. "He is waiting for us at the summit of the Tower, beneath the gaze of the Chairman's office. My sources in the Tower tell me that he has been quietly arranging security patrols, moving defence boomers, aiming to make our tomb on the summit of the man-made mountain."

Each read dot on screen represented a confirmed combat boomer patrol. Each yellow dot a probable boomer patrol. There were many times more yellows than reds. And there were more reds than I could quickly count in my mind. It looked like the summit could almost have acne.

"Bloody hell," I whispered.

"Of course, even GENOM has a finite supply of battle ready boomers at its disposal. Those boomers have to come from somewhere."

The wireframe view shifted, diving down towards the mid-levels of the Tower. _Research and Development laboratories, CKO Office. Cyberdroid technology centre. _Three locations highlighted red within the green-framed structure. There were five red dots, 25 yellows, all spread out over a much larger area. Sparse and solitary, all on their own, lost in the vastness of the Tower. Easy pickings.

"We're going to do more than just kill Mason tonight. This, ladies, is our plan..."

The screen behind her zoomed out, showing the whole Tower once more.

I was going to battle. My blood boiled, charged with static electricity, my limbs tingling with power. Just hurry up and let me go...

-----

I didn't _hate_ Mason.

I couldn't bring myself to hate him.

He was an arsehole. I'd never have anything at all to do with him if I could help it.

I suppose he'd caused a lot of people a lot of pain.

He caused people I considered my friends, a lot of pain.

He'd effectively tried to _kill_ me.

But at the same time, it wasn't _him_. It was an Assassin in a car. It was two car-loads of of Combat Boomers. It was a Battle-Boomer.

I was going to murder him with a clear mind.

I didn't hate him, but I still wanted to kill him. It was my job, it was for my friends... it was because I didn't do anything to save one life.

I could at least kill the person responsible.

-----

I listened to the rumble of the truck's engine, timing out the drive to the Tower. The drumming motor was dull and muffled through the hardsuit's speakers. Again, not something a human would notice, but I could tell the higher frequencies were being clipped and filtered. The whole world sounded like an overcompressed MP3 file.

"5 minutes to drop-off," Mackie said through a crackling intercom.

For him, just business as usual. He almost sounded sorry he was staying with the truck and not going with us. Somehow though, I doubted Sylia would ever let him.

The truck lurched hard a round a corner, pushing everyone towards the far bulkhead. One of the motorslaves… Linna's green one, slipped on its mountings, threatening to pin a startled Priss against her own brand spanking new machine for a moment.

"I wish he'd slow down," commented Linna, bracing herself against one of the crane arms.

5 hardsuited women and 5 motorslaves meant there was little space in the back of the truck for anything else but a computer terminal, chair, and a toolchest.

"We're 30 seconds behind schedule," stated the silver hardsuit. "We should be at 22nd and Toshiro by now."

The back cabin was sealed to the world, and barely lit by a series of hastily added spotlights. The only sense of the speed the truck was actually travelling at was the occasional lurch as it hurtled around a bend, or jolt of a pothole.

My hardsuit's onboard Galileo system however, assured me I was travelling at over 160kph… and still accelerating.

My heart was racing at near double that, breath shivering. I couldn't stand still, I was shifting weight between my feet, fidgeting with nerves. Inside my hardsuit, I was burning hot, and shivering cold. Sweat trickled down my brow, breath fogging up the inside of my visor.

My body was like an engine revving in neutral… Spinning its nuts off but still going nowhere. And eventually, it'd just burn itself out. A little message inside my mind warned me that I had about 45 minutes or so before I passed out.

It wasn't going to be a problem.

If this mission was taking half as long, it was already in deep trouble. The average Knight Saber mission rarely lasted more than 10 or 15 minutes. 1 month of training. 1 day on a mental knife-edge. 1 hour of a briefing. 10 minutes of chaos and sheer bloody terror.

I was trying to calm myself down… trying to calm my panting breaths. Trying to slow my heart… but I was just too fired up.

Mortal terror churned with blistering excitement.

I was going into battle. Guns and lasers and exploding things battle. A split second between brutal death and thrilling victory battle.

What the hell was I doing?

In a hardsuit, aboard a truck, ready to charge into the teeth of the most powerful and intractable force on the planet.

And I _wanted _to do it.

Funny that. I had changed sometime in the last few weeks. I switched my hardsuit over to run another diagnostic… just to be sure. Servos cycled over, jets purging and charging with a metallic snort, a puff of fuel gas coughing out.

"That's the 5th time in the last 15 minutes, Meg… if there were any problems I think they'd've appeared by now," a pink hardsuit giggled.

I planted steel hands on steel hips.

"Excuse me for nervous being."

Nené threw me a peace sign, before diving back into her work at the terminal. The wings on her hardsuit backpack fluttered as she typed, cables running from her arms to the console carrying terabytes of data. Inside her hermetically sealed hardsuit, free from any interference by my pheromones, she seemed to have relaxed.

Linna smirked through her visor, but her eyes betrayed her true feeling. She was as nervous as I was. Priss had isolated herself in the back of the truck, quietly perching herself in the saddle of her Typhoon motorslave, poking at it's instruments.

Her eyes stared off at a point that might've been 500 yards or more beyond the far wall of the truck.

"Three minutes," Mackie called. "I think they're expecting us, sis."

"How so?"

"All the lights are on… _all_ of them. The whole building is lit up like a Christmas tree."

Sylia brushed Nené out of the way, punching a quick combination into the keypad. The image onscreen switched from a line-art network diagram, to a live video feed from… a small crack in the ceiling just above the hardsuit lockers.

Sylia started back, blinking like an owl.

I'd've paid a million yen to have had a camera to capture the surprise on her face.

"Oh shit!" came a gasp from the cab of the truck, the feed terminating to a blue screen with suspicious abruptness.

"Well talk about this later, Mackie."

She didn't have the time or inclination to deal with a perverted teenager. Nené was about to have a coronary laughing at it.

"Y'know… the only reason he gets away with that is…" Linna started

"I know," Sylia shot her down, hard.

Priss could only roll her eyes.

I keyed in a private channel to Sylia's hardsuit. My mischievous side roared forward, sensing an outlet.

"I have a cunning plan," I stated in my own language, trying on my best imitation of Baldrick. "Perhaps I could _introduce_ Mackie to some of my abilities. If he wants naked women, give him more than he could handle."

I would die laughing… frying each and every single one of his synapses with sexual desire… and not even have half my clothes off. He'd never look at a woman the same way again.

"Not now, Meg," she dismissed.

I couldn't help but notice that she didn't say 'no'. Already, a plan of action was forming in my mind… one that involved a post-battle maintenance overhaul.

"I think it's kinda romantic," commented Nené, "In a perverse sort of way. He goes through a lot of effort."

"Only you Nené… Only you," Priss just rolled her eyes.

The young woman answered with a bright smile. She was of the internet generation alright.

Of course, my suit did highlight my attributes more than the other women's… but I think I'd get less stares walking through town fully armoured, than wearing my jeans and jacket. Weirdly dressed people were common. Sexaroids weren't.

The image came up, the whole Tower with every light ablaze.

"Mason wants the world looking at his triumph tonight. Instead it will be looking at his death."

Sylia spoke as if it was a certainty.

"This is your last chance to back out. If any woman does not want to take part, then let her say so right now. Don't feel you have to risk your lives for a personal grudge."

She was answered by silence. Except for the roar of the engine, of course.

"Mason will die," said Priss.

"2 minutes," advised Mackie… fear straining his voice. Not fear of GENOM… but fear of retribution when we got back. "No sign of a welcoming party except, for the lights."

Someone hiccuped.

"Good." She stopped for a second, and I could see her holding back tears. Her lips were quivering… _Actually_ quivering. "Mount up and check your motorslaves…" a heartbeat. "And thank you all."

"I opened up a back door," cheered Nené, ruining the solemn moment. "and prepared the disk space for some major bit-dumpage. I've got the downlink between my suit and the truck up and running, then on to PeaceKnight and BlackKnight using the truck's own data links."

PeaceKnight and BlackKnight being servers. One was in the Panty Drawer. The other didn't actually exist anywhere physically, but distributed throughout thousands of public servers and data nodes, as a distributed virtual machine.

"Hard part now getting there," I recalled my own part in this.

"And getting '_snoopy'_ inside the system," added the Hacker.

"And not getting killed by Mason's trap on top," the Dancer chipped in, "Waiting for you two to finish."

"I hear Nené finish quick," I tried out my own deadpan.

"I don't think she's ever finished," came the response from Priss… Biting and savage.

"Shuttup Apewoman!" was the traditional retort.

Even the following laughter could've been scripted, but it kept the tension monster at bay. I was still chuckling giggly to myself as I swung my leg over my own yellow-painted 'slave. It used to be Priss'… a few hits of red still poking through, but now it was _mine._

I could feel all the data connections mating with my suit, the 'slave's engines whining to life as its OS booted up. Information flickered on front of me on the machine's dials, RPM, ammunition loadout, gearbox settings, even suggestions from the 'slave's AI.

I lingered on that question for a while, but I knew better, It was nothing more than a modified boomer AI... not even of battleboomer level. A type-9, same as was used for most waitresses. Just enough to stand and fight and get snitty when it got abandoned for the latest greatest thing.

It was literally, just a machine. I did see the irony in my thinking that.

I really had to ask Sylia about proper hardware integration between myself and the hardsuit… and the motorslave. I'd like to be able to look upon the world without pixelisation, aliasing, frame tearing and refresh errors.

Oh well.

I slipped my visor down over the transparent faceshield, closing off the last view I had over the outside world. A few little pixels flickered and sparked in the darkness, before my worldview returned… filtered, compressed and cleaned.

The other Sabers had done the same thing. I glanced on last time around the cargo bay, seeing four other slaves and their riders revving up, getting ready to go.

"Revving up the engine, listen to her howling roar," I mumbled to myself.

"Put 'er under tension, begging you to touch and go."

Time to ride the highway to the danger zone.

"I'm opening the bay doors now. We're going a bit fast, so hold on."

I barely heard Mackie's warning… I was too busy trying to convince the 'slave I was who my hardsuit claimed I was. The bloody thing was sulking because Priss had abandoned it. But it would run, and it would fight, and would 'die' for its rider. I wondered just how much of an AI for a second... if it sulked, maybe it had other feelings?

I pulled the throttle… more like a trigger on a pistol than an actual twistgrip. The fact that one of my manipulator claws was pulling on it, and not my actual hand, didn't help instil a sense of control.

Yes… definitely must ask Sylia for that direct link.

I rocked the bike back and forward in neutral, making sure it was properly secured to its release arms. I didn't want to drop off halfway down and crash. I took one last look around, trying to suppress a nervous quiver in my breath.

The doors came open with a whine of hydraulic servos, slowly swing open. The wind outside rushed in at 100mph, pulling on my armour, roaring like a jet engine past my head. Sound dampers kicked in an instant later, killing the roar to a dull humm.

The city was a blur of neon rolling past, one riot of unfolding light and colour. I glimpsed a few pedestrians, staring back, stunned by the sight of the truck thundering past with its sides open, and five motorcycles ready to go.

"_Aoi_, comms check," Sylia's voice entered the privacy of my helmet. Her white 'slave was parked in the centre of the truck.

"Loud and clear, _Shiroi_," answered Priss from right in front of me. She fidgeted with her backside, settling into the saddle. She was revved up and ready to go, itching for a fight.

"_Midori?"_

"All systems green," responded Linna, ahead and to my right. Her left hand gave a thumbs up.

"_Kiiroi?"_

I answered "Ready." I hoped. I was shaking like a candle flame in a breeze. I could die in the next half hour. Painfully.

"_Pinku?"_

I tried not to giggle as Nené waved, "Ready to go," I could hear the fear in her voice, even if she was well used to it. Her antennae flicked for a moment, adjusting and attenuating some signal, "Jamming all GENOM comm.-frequencies except 21-alpha and 42-kappa."

I swallowed one great big gulp of dry air, calming myself as best I could. Peering out past Priss' shapely armoured bum, the Tower was on fire. Every single light merged into one blazing luminous blur.

"Thirty seconds to the Tannhauser gate," Mackie called out.

I watched C-beams glittering in the darkness, a hundred stories tall, guarding the tower, illuminated by a hundred twinkling fairy lights. Each one in reality probably a kilowatt floodlight.

The scale of this building was pure mind blowing. It was the largest man made structure in human history. More people worked in that one building than in all the others in this city put together.

5 million people in one super-archaeology.

It loomed over us, over a kilometre tall, and nearly 3 kilometres around at the base. An _actual_ mountain of concrete and steel, it was marked on Japanese maps as Mt. GENOM. Inside, it was its own self contained microcity, maybe half a million employees never even left its doors.

Half a million people, able to live their entire lives in one single building. Eat, sleep, drink, play. Inside there were hospitals, cinemas, a full shopping centre, gyms, bars, nightclubs and police stations, even a full fire department. And that wasn't even the half of it. On corporate territory, corporate security had the right to use deadly force against any intruder.

And I was going to take that entire monster on?

My courage eroded away like a sandcastle at high tide.

I double-checked my 'slave. Turbines idle at 20000RPM. Exhaust gas temperatures were green. Oil pressures were green. Coolant temps were a little low. Hardsuit links were green. Ready to rock and roll.

I didn't want to die...

For the briefest moment I wanted nothing more in the world, than to be back in my own bed, warm and comfortable.

"Knight Sabers," Sylia's voice interrupted that thought... _"Sanjo!"_

Too late.

Oh well, what the hell. Here I go. Into battle.

Servos spun up once more, hydraulics raising Priss and Linna off the deck of the truck. Slowly, they arced out into thin air, engines revving, turbines banging, surging and backfiring. Sylia inched her 'slave towards the back of the truck, the rear cargo door swinging down, graunching against the road. I glanced back at her for a moment, watching as she rolled down the ramp into a shower of trailing sparks. An instant later, she gassed it, roaring up beside me, under Priss to take the lead.

The howl of her straining engines hung in the air, somehow louder and deeper than the 4 of us combined. Not to be outdone, Priss dropped hard to the ground, 'slave bouncing on its suspension, threatening to buck her violently free.

With a twitch of the throttle, she controlled it masterfully, pulling into formation meters behind our leader. Linna chased after her seconds later.

That meant one thing.

My turn.

I felt the slave begin to move, raising off the deck. This is... this is real. My breathing stopped, my heart frozen in my chest. Slowly, I swung out into mid air, secured to the truck only by a single steel arm, and two swift release bolts connecting to the 'slave's engine cases.

'RELEASE READY' signalled my HUD in safe green letter.

The road seemed to roar beneath like a black tarmac belt-sander. For the briefest moment, I held a picture of Irene in my mind, bloodied and torn by an accident at half this speed.

I'm wearing armour, I reminded myself. And I've trained for this.

Try telling that to my bloody subconscious. It warned that certain death awaited, six feet below.

Focus... just focus on the mission. Do my job. Do the job I've trained to do. Do the job I've _wanted_ to do. Nené, ten feet away, was checking her release handles.

I gripped mine, putting all thoughts of anything else out of my mind. There was nothing in my world, but that yellow handle.

.......3.....Deep Breath.....2......Exhale.......1.....Deep breath.....0....Exhale and release!

I didn't even realise I'd pulled the handle until I felt myself hanging weightless in mid air. I wanted to throw up inside my helmet. The road rose to meet me, crashing into the wheels of the motorslave. It kicked and juddered, handlebars trying to whip from my hands.

The engine roared to life, the 'slave's AI controlling the bike while I was still figuring out how to do it.

I was away and running. Not sure what to do for an instant, I gassed the bike, grabbing a handful of throttle. The engine surged, popping and banging as turbines tried to cope with a sudden flood of hydrogen gas.

The bike baulked for a heartbeat, before surging forward with a banshee howl. The truck just went backwards, as if it'd hit a brick wall.

The world rushed past, too fast for my mind to keep up. Individual building, signs and windows blurred together to form two massive roadside walls, neon signage dissolving into black and grey concrete, mingling with flickering street lamps. Somehow, I picked out a green light at a junction, only realising what it was until seconds past.

There was only the road ahead, three red taillights 50 yards in front, and the blazing backdrop of GENOM Tower, scraping the sky far above.

I was riding straight towards a wall of fire.

A quick glance to my right, I saw Nené chasing up a few yards behind. A glance at my speedometer.280 kph and still going. No major problems.

At 01:00:42 I blew through the open Tannhauser gate, glancing up at the gantries above me.

"_Pinku,_ all.... No enemy signals up to point 1. 4 hostiles moving down from point 3. Appear to be battle models."

The enemy were coming.

"_Shiroi, Pinku. _Acknowledge. All: Pentagon formation. _Kiiroi _and _Pinku_ take rear, finish anything that gets past."

Sylia was in control.

"Right," 4 voices answered.

I was level with Nené, maybe 20 meters behind Priss, who was ten behind Sylia. We were on GENOM property. There was no background music, no Victory playing in my ears, just the scream of engines and the roar of tyres. It fuelled me... pushing me forward, deeper into forbidden territory. I was trespassing on deadly ground, and I was loving it, charging forward.

2 meat and bone security guards blinked as we roared past. One of them shot Nené pointlessly, and earned himself a punch to the back of the head from his friend for his troubles. Both of them scuttled like rats to their hole, fearing bloody retribution.

That was what GENOM painted us as... heartless murderers of innocent salarymen.

Nobody even mentioned them.

Braking hard for a sharp turn, I thought I saw something dancing in the shadows, behind some pipework framing the highway, but I put it out of my mind as nothing more than a trick of the headlights, sparks like Angels dancing in the thrill of the moment.

Hard right, one-eighty degrees, motorslave helping make the turn. The machine banked over like a fighter jet, pulling hard into the corner. Kneecap skating across the top of the tarmac, I left a trail of glittering firefly sparks behind.

The 'slave kicked and weaved as it struggled for grip, ABS and traction controls clinging to the tarmac to dear life. Upright and full throttle again, revelling in the wail of the turboshaft engines as they strained, hauling 400 kilograms of motorslave forward.

The long climb up the mountain-Tower lay before me. Take off time.

Sylia warned, "Passed point 1. Keep tight, don't fall behind."

Nené was losing ground. She lunged forward, pushing her machine to its limits.

I focused my eyes on the centreline of the highway, tunnel vision closing in around. There was only the highway, the other Sabers, a sheer obsidian glass wall to my left... nothing else.

360kph on two wheels.

100 metres every second. One entire football pitch.

Overhead gantry lights melted together into one single luminous streak, pointing the way forward. Two black shapes flickered under the lights ahead, moving into a view from around the Tower wall.

"_Midori_, contact ahead," warned Priss. "2 combat boomers heading our way."

I could hear the relish in her voice. Given the chance, she'd've torn them apart with her bare hands and bathed in their vital fluids.

"Got them _Aoi. _Locked on."

Two stars twinkled to life on the surface of the boomers, ballooning in size. I watched Priss jink hard at the last moment, the space where she'd just been filling with an expanding cloud of smoke, flame and pulverised concrete.

A single, fist size lump punched into my motorslave, cracking the windscreen, before pinging off my helmet, ringing it like a bell. I winced, expecting for a moment to feel my brains burst through my nose.

"Watch out," came the warning from the blue Saber, a second too late.

Gathering my thoughts, I target locked one of them, aiming the 'slave's cannon right for it. Priss fired first, the guts of the battleboomer bursting as the shell smashed through its chest, sending it spinning off its feet. I followed up half a second later, finishing the job. Linna took down the second, ammunition touching off. A flaming mushroom cloud was its grave marker.

"2 targets silent," reported Nené, "15 more inbound."

She was calm.

I was anything but.

Terrifying, thrilling. I was panting hard, like I was running myself up. My arms and legs were locked solid in place, my hands clenching around the bars. Oh my Holy God I was afraid...

But I was loving it.

A quick scan of my hardware told me everything was fine. 'Slave was running hard and having fun. Hardsuit was showing all green. Even my body was working fine, working hard, but still revelling in it.

Already we were a third of the way up the tower and still climbing hard. The highway was tightening up, coiling into itself. The higher up the Tower, the more I had to lean the 'slave over. My left knee hovered above the tarmac.

"5 more, Bu-12B's, skimming down."

Sylia's voice was calm as a summer's day, no different to training. 5 boomers, too many for the vanguard to deal with. Okay… just throttle back and open up some distance. Don't shoot Priss in the back… that'll piss her off.

Nené matched speed with me as I allowed the gap to widen.

Explosions rippled a hundred yards ahead, gatling rounds pinging of hardsuit armour. Three boiling orange explosions answered back, lead Sabers disappearing into the smoke.

"Target lock," flashed up on my HUD, a green rectangle highlighting a section of smoke.

My finger hovered over the trigger, ready to fire. But what if that's Priss? Don't shoot, wait until I can see what I'm locked on to. I didn't want to hit Priss with a HEAT shell. That would be a Bad Thing.

The enemy however, had no such concerns…

Alarms screamed in my ears warning of a radar targeting me, fractions of an instant before a hail of orange stars exploded towards me.

"Shit!" I shrieked, braking as hard as I could, pulling the 'slave towards the wall.

I felt the bullets ping off my armour, rattling like hail on a tin roof. Was that all? I had time to wonder, before the road ahead erupted into a wall of fire and rubble. Oh hell no? Instinct had me pulling hard on the bars before I'd even figured out what'd happened.

By the time my brain finally realised it'd used its bazooka, the crater was ten yards behind, and rapidly falling away. The Bu-12B was highlighted by the green rectangle. It was lining up final kill-shot, the gaping maw of its muzzle aimed right at me.

I thought of Lady633… of being helpless beneath the whim of his friend… staring into the same cannon barrel…

… and pushed the little red button on the motorslave's handlebar before it could even think about firing. Just one little click, followed by a dull thud, cycle bucking and weaving as it struggled with the cannon's recoil.

The boomers right hand side exploded into a spray of flames and steel, tearing its gun arm free, ruining its jets and sending it crashing to the ground in a crumpled, bleeding heap. It swung its Gatling gun desperately at me as I bulleted past… but all it succeeded in doing was shattering a few office windows.

It wasn't dead… disappointingly. But it wasn't able to catch up either, not unless it could run at 280kph. A Mission kill would do.

"_Kiiroi_ all: Clear back here," I glanced over my shoulder. "Nothing coming up behind."

Only then did I glance over my shoulder to actually confirm that. Nothing but that single battleboomer, now burning happily to itself. The flames of its passing warmed my heart. It felt like revenge, like I'd proved I was boss.

But I'd fallen behind. I throttled the motorslave hard, taking seconds to get back into formation. All systems still green. There was a warning about a crack in my shoulder armour where a round had bit deeper , but nothing worth getting alarmed about.

I was lucky that bazooka didn't connect. It could've blown me in half. That was its plan. Distract me with gunfire, guide me into its killzone, and then finish the job.

It wasn't worth bothering about. Just keep going. 500 metres up. Mission time, 47 seconds. Thirteen seconds to point 2. Nearly time to put Sylia's _real_ plan into action. Killing Mason was the obvious objective, but myself and Nené had something else to do first.

"_Pinku, Kiiroi,_" I contacted Nené, "10 seconds to breakpoint."

Time to earn my paycheck.

"Right!"

Nené was panting with excitement. I glanced over to her, riding wide and close to the barriers. The shimmering lights of the city stretched out behind her, moon low over the ruins of Rainbow Bridge. I had barely a tenth of a second to admire the view before it disappeared behind the black artificial horizon of the Tower wall.

"Shit, 4 more coming down, Damn they're persistent!"

"_Aoi_, this is just the appetiser, They're stalling us to give Mason time to prepare the main course," Sylia tried to cool her off.

"I know. They take too damn long to die."

Seems like they died pretty bloody quickly to me. From the gate to point 1, we were only 2.2 seconds behind were we were supposed to be. To point 2, I guessed it as being around 4.7.

More 12B's raced to meet us head-on, thrusters flaring.

A flash of mental arithmetic told me they were 500 yards ahead. Also about 5 seconds, assuming they were standing still, which they weren't. Snap decision time. Don't make the wrong one.

Go early.

"Now!" I signalled, switching modes on the 'slave. It signalled its agreement fractions of a second later with a little : ) on the dashboard.

Then launched me ten feet in the air with a flash of its boosters, bucking me forward like a steel bronco. I cut my own thrusters in, pushing for more altitude, trying to hold speed. I was soaring over the road, just hanging in the air for one ecstatic eternity between the moment boosters cut out, and gravity kicked back in.

Nené was rising to meet me.

Sylia fired. One boomer crippled. Linna finished it with another cannon blast. 10 meters below me, I was looking down on Priss, her and her motorslave seeming dead still as the road rolled past underneath her.

The cannon mounted on her 'slaves right side fired, spitting gas. A 12B exploded into flame, clouds of smoke rising with the heat of the fire, blinding me for an instant.

I'd been in the air for 2 seconds when a little electric chirp in my ear told me my own 'slave had finished. It was marked on my HUD, closing from behind and beneath. Just like I trained to do. Drop down to meet it. Feet together, arms stretched out wide, and just slide into place. The HUD even had a green pathway marked out, guiding me down.

Miss, and drop onto the tarmac at a speed high enough to get torn to shreds, before momentum shoots me like an armoured bullet through the barriers, ready for a half-kilometre fall to hard concrete below.

I'd barely formed that scenario in my mind, when I felt the 'slave's armour lock onto mine. Plugs docked with sockets, computers shook electronic hands, syncing data and displays. My visor flickered over to show what the 'slave was seeing through its cameras. Information on fuel, ammunition and battery power was offered, along with a 3D RADAR image.

_Aoi_, _Midori_, _Shiroi_, all circled with a green ring, all marked as riding their motorcycles. _Pinku_ was rising behind me, also green, and marked as being in motoroid mode. There were 25 red dots on screen, tracing a spiral track coiled around a massive object that could only be the Tower itself.

One was behind.

On its own initiative, the 'slave spun round in mid air, hydrogen turbines whining and flaring as it brought its cannon to bear. Aiming back at me was another 12B. It fired. I commanded the 'slave to jink. Bullets stitched across the wall behind, blowing out glass windows, sending paper butterflies fluttering out into the night air.

The 'slave warned me it was about to fire a brief moment before it did. Three shots with its hand-cannon. The Bu-12 ceased to exist, replaced by a ball of fire and so much tinfoil.

"Nice one!"

I actually congratulated the machine. Pulling it around, I caught sight of Nené, pulling level with me. Her pastel pink 'slave gave a thumbs up.

"Let's go knock on his door," she said. I could hear her smiling. "Team_orenji_ to the target _giniro_!"

200 metres above, halfway between two coils of the summit highway, was the office of Brian J. Mason. Lightly guarded now, thanks to Mason's own attempts to lay a trap, what better time than to have the Sabers' star hacker pay his computer systems a visit? At the very least, we'd dig up some really nice dirt on Mason and GENOM… At best, we'd find a train of petabyte sized files, each labelled "Brain_Scan_for_", and oh how nice it would be to punch in delete.

"_Orenji, Shiroi_, you have five minutes. Good luck."

Sylia and the others disappeared around the buildings flank, spitting fire and chasing flames, leaving us alone. A single blue ADP chopper buzzed after them.

"Let's get going," I breathed, skimming over the surface of the Tower.

Adrenaline surged through my body. My heart was still racing. My breath came ragged and sharp. My whole body burned with heat soaking in from the 'slave's engines and joints. Screaming turbines pushed my higher in the air, my shadow racing across the surface of the Tower.

Nené closed in from behind.

I could see into the offices, apartments and labs we flew past. People working, living… Even raising children inside this massive ziggurat. Entire families lived in there. Work for GENOM, and be set for life was the recruitment slogan. A nice reminder that we had to be careful what we did once inside. Just because they worked for GENOM, or were related to someone who did, didn't make them complicit in the conglomerate's crimes.

Do these people really have a choice in this matter? It's easy to condemn them all as Little Eichmanns. From the comfort of a trailer, or a secret base underground, it's easy to blame them all for GENOM's actions, after all, how could GENOM do anything without the manpower behind it? No employees equals no corporate evil, right?

So imagine the GENOM employee, working in his or her office, finding a single piece of information, a document giving the merest hint at the evils deep within the Tower. He has the choice to expose to the media, or quietly carry on with his job. 'Moral' people say that the only choice is to blow the whistle, but that overlooks one simple thing.

GENOM pays for his children's education. GENOM pays for his family's healthcare. GENOM makes his life safe and easy. GENOM will terminate him with extreme prejudice, and happily turf his family out to rot on the streets if that little piece of information were to ever leak.

So then, what parent would do such a thing? What parent would harm their children's futures for a fleeting belief and a moment of fame? Isn't it better therefore, to just do the job he was told to do, and keep his own family safe from the horrors he knows the company can unleash?

It was just another evil to lay at the foot of GENOM. Really, when you get right down to the nitty-gritty of it, do those people working in the Tower really have a choice? It wasn't my place to judge them, but for a stroke of luck, I'd've happily worked my life away on the other side of that corporate wall, or one very much like it.

They were as innocent as anyone in this city, in many ways. While there were evil people in there - there was one up on the summit ready to meat his maker - there was no way to tell just by looking at them. The Knight Sabers weren't in the business of murder. Not only was it wrong, but Sylia took great care to guard and protect our reputation.

Nothing would do more to harm our standing in the public's eyes, than a few dead innocents. And furthermore, a few dead innocents weren't something I wanted on my conscience. I already had one, and didn't like it too much.

Mason's office was marked on my HUD, a nice little arrow showing me exactly where to go. Time to do my job, too.

"_Pinku,_" I called Nené, "Cover me. I'll go in first."

Those words were so alien to me. But that was the plan. Nené was more valuable right now. And if there were 5 full-blown combat boomers in there, better I get it in the face than her.

"Right!" came the acknowledgement from behind.

Grand. Now I just needed a quick plan in case I came face to face with a wall of grinning combat boomers. Scream for half a second then scatter myself across the tower wall seemed like a good one.

But this was the plan. This was what I had to do. Besides, I tried to reassure myself, if there was anything seriously lethal up there, Nené would've detected it by now. Putting all thoughts of explosive death out of my mind, I tweaked the throttle, rising up level with the windows.

Inside, the lights were on full, throwing silhouettes out into the night sky. Of desks, chairs, a computer terminal, along with the traditional office nik-naks that pollute every executive's desk.

And a woman. Tanned skin, green-tinted hair and a pair of eyes that probably came out of the same parts-bin as my own. It was Rin, again, I recognised her from Sylia's apartment. Blinded by the 'slave's headlights, she took a few moments to figure out what exactly I was. With a body like a rapier, what else could she be but a 33C?

I took a few moments to make damn sure she wasn't just Mason's innocent secretary.

Rin dived for some panic button hidden under the desk, making a desperate attempt to sound the alarm. One shot from my own autocannon punched a fist-sized hole in the glass, before blowing her to pieces, and finally shattering the wounded glass. A black ball of smoke billowed out, rising into the night sky.

A quick scan of the room showed nothing else inside. I pushed the motorslave in, feeling strangely giddy.

"_Pinku_, all clear," I signalled, stepping into the office.

Papers fluttered in the air like white butterflies, some stained with orange blood. I glanced down at the desk beside me, seeing a photograph of a man who was clearly Mason, standing beside an elderly woman. "Yvonne Mason, aged 100", it was captioned. Even Mason had a grandmother.

The desk itself was black marble streaked with white lightning, chipped a little by shrapnel, but still resolute against the breeze. Sticky blood and the remains of entrails oozed down its flanks, pooling on the floor.

There wasn't much left of Rin, Both legs had gone out the window. Her head and shoulders had landed against the far wall, under a painted portrait of Mason. Her eyes were open, still staring back at me with stunned indignity, as if she knew she'd been blown apart by a 'toy'. Everything below the clavicle was a mess of blood, artificial meat, cables and ceramic bones.

For a sobering moment I realised that... structurally anyway... she wasn't too different from myself. One shot had pretty much painted the walls with her insides. She had built in armour woven beneath the skin. I had a hardsuit.

I moved further in, hearing Nené land hard behind me.

"You were only supposed to break the glass," she commented sourly. "The computer terminal is ruined."

"Sorry," I didn't mean it. Instead, I took one quick look around, "This place bigger than my home,"

And both apartments either side of it added together for good measure. The office was one massive vault of imposing black marble, mixed with shining alloy light fixtures. Pride of place in front of the secretary's desk… was a half-century old Williams F1 car. It bathed in the glow of a full-sized viewscreen which seemed almost too big for the starship Enterprise.

"Working terminal here," I pointed to the desk beside me. It wasn't as ornate as the executive's, but still enough so to humble any visiting global dignitaries. I checked the mouse, clicking on a few windows, "It still log in."

"Jackpot!"

Nené dropped from her 'slave and practically skipped across the floor, steel boots clicking on granite tiles. It seemed like we'd gotten a little lucky. Rin had gone to the window, to see what was making such an explosive commotion outside, and had forgotten to log out. Being Mason's personal assistant, and being a supposedly trustworthy piece of hardware, I'd bet my own body that she'd've had the same access permissions as Mason himself.

Nené dropped into the chair, burying herself into the keyboard.

"Oh shit!" she half shrieked, "She found my little Trojan horse."

"Deleted?"

"No," she paused to think, checking a few things. "We don't need it right now anyway." She paused, making to run her fingers through her hair before realising she was wearing a helmet, "This'll save me so much work." The hacker started to giddily type away. "Since she's Mason's private secretary and a loyal boomer to boot, she's considered a trustworthy asset, so has the same ACLs as he does so I just need to set up a connection, run a lister script to scrape the databases, spoof the certificates and encrypt traffic so it looks like just a regular backup to their security programs, and then set it to run as a cronjob in the background so we get updates to it on a daily basis, _and_ I have to make sure that it keeps the network load to a minimum so their bandwidth monitors don't pick up on the excess traffic."

All in one breath too. I knew what most of that was, but it just didn't seem humanely possible.

"In five minutes?"

"Easy. I am a hacking God."

Hubris was a capital crime in ancient Greece, as I recalled. And while a lightning bolt from the sky courtesy of Lord Zeus was unlikely, GENOM security showing up however, bordered on certainty.

"I've got back, as long as you need."

Besides, I had my own little search to do. I dropped from my motorslave, commanding it to guard the mahogany double-doors leading into the office. Nené's machine was standing by the window, diligently looking out for an intruders following us up.

37 seconds inside the hall of the bastard prince. 4:23 left to find where he's hidden the BGC DVDs. Probably pointless, since there'd most likely be copies somewhere, but it still didn't hurt to destroy the originals. It meant one less copy for someone to find at the very least.

The office was quiet, but I couldn't shake the feeling of being somewhere forbidden, that any moment, lasers would drop from the ceiling and punish me for trespassing. Nené was mumbling to herself in C, her hardsuit jacked in to so many ports it was possible to forget she was human inside that pink shell.

I thought about helping her for a moment… The ability to directly manipulate data at the speed of thought would certainly make this go faster, but my own knowledge of computers was about 20 years out of date. I couldn't afford the time to learn, nor the money to download the official GENOM skillset.

So I paced around looking for something that could be a safe, and tried not to get sick as the adrenaline was flushed from my bloodstream. I rifled through the drawers in his desk, flicking through papers. A High-School diploma, a degree in Mechatronic Engineering from Stanford, some old family pictures.

Another drawer yielded only pens and other office supplies.

Strange, it felt like such a violation of a person privacy to be doing this… Never mind that I had friends trying to kill this very same person… there was something very private, very humanising about filtering through Mason's personal belongings. There were no crucified mice or pictures of tortured kittens, just regular human things. A copy of Ian Fleming's _Thunderball_, a few post-its, a tonne of random memos… no 'plot for world domination'.

It wouldn't have taken much for me to have been him, sitting in that leather chair. I would've worked for GENOM, and have been happy to do so. Another person, another life and all that. I was as far removed as it was possible to be from that person now.

I really had more important things to be concerned about, like finding where he stashed those bloody DVDs. Goddamnit where are they? Files, files and more files… a few jumpdrives that might be worth hanging onto… and just paper.

And most of it was nothing more than standard business. Acres of land here, evict residents there. All were dripping in legalese.

And splattered boomer.

Just papers, nothing but papers. Projects named 'Enki', 'Uruk', 'Gilgamesh', 'Anu', 'Enlil' and 'Ishtar'. I'll be damned if GENOM didn't have a thing for ancient Babylon, even the Tower itself was a new Tower of Babel.

Each page was labelled "Unauthorised possession will lead to termination of employment.". And of the possessor. I just let them flutter out the window into the night air.

"_Pinku_, how long?"

I had to know how long I had left to find this thing.

"2 minutes, maybe 3," was the answer returned by the programmer. "They've got a sentinel hiding in L2-land that just won't let me play with the server message bus."

Computers had moved on a great deal in 20 years, this much was clear. Now where were these damn disks? They weren't in his desk. All the drawers were opened… Secret compartments maybe? What sort of megalomaniac doesn't?

I started tapping on the marble, then listening for anything hollow.

This was my own personal mission from Sylia. A whisper in the ear before we left. I had to find the disks and destroy them.

Tap… no… Tap… no… Tap… nothing… Tap… come on dammit… Tap… Tap…. _Thud… _again…_Thud-thud._ Got it! Feeling a thrill of success, I punched the compartment open, shattering a fibreglass front, and sending a gyrojet pistol, some ammunition, and a single silver key falling to the ground.

No DVDss.

"Shit!" I swore, trying to bite back on a building frustration.

"What?" answered Nené, jumping from her chair.

"Uh… nothing," I deflected it, "Just searching for something Sylia wanted."

"Well don't distract me, this is _hard._"

Speaking of whom, she should've been reaching the summit of the Tower about then. Okay, back to Mason's office.

I ran through it in my mind, trying to think the problem out. I have a minute to find those disks, then I have to get Nené out of here, and get through this building. If they're not in the desk, where could they be? Quincy's desk? Don't even think about that!

And anyways, something told me Mason wasn't the sort to give up a trump card.

What about the key then? That has to open something. A safe maybe? Seems possible. Where would Mason put a safe?

Truth be told, I could've searched the room for a month, and still not found it. If Mason was smart, it'd just be another tile on the floor, anonymous unless you knew where to look. Good luck finding that quickly. I had a minute to figure this out. Mason was smart, but he was also human. He'd put it somewhere out of sight, but still within easy reach, where he'd remember it. It might well just be hidden by something.

There were plenty of things in the office to hide it. Desks, chairs, couches… the racecar. But only one was at human height, and only one appealed to Mason's ego. And sure, in movies and such, wasn't the Big Bad's safe always behind the picture?

I hoped Mason was playing to type. I really could only take one shot at this before I had to abandon the search.

I tore the portrait from the wall as if it was the man himself, and was greeted by the sight of marbled wall. And a single keyhole.

Success.

I tried the key. The lock came open with a slight stiffness, almost like it was a new mechanism. The safe door… 6 inches of counterbalanced steel… swung wide open to reveal a single wooden box, aged and worn as if it had weathered centuries unloved, stark and incongruous against the gunmetal background.

It was just a box. Large enough to hold a grapefruit with some padding space, the box sat there, a tarnished brass catch securing the lid. It was unadorned with anything save for a single carving of a single staring eye, with a single long lash.

"What the hell?" I whispered, curiously taking the box in my armoured hands.

I flicked upon the catch, lid springing up with a squeak from oil-less hinges. I was met by my own armoured visage, watching back from inside an orb of golden glass, nestled in folds of crimson satin padding. An interesting ornament, nothing more. Why did it mean so much to Mason that he'd stick it in a safe?

It didn't matter to me. I dropped the box on the floor, and starting whipping through whatever files were inside. I felt my gloved hand close on something distinctly like a DVD case.

"Got 'em!"

Scarred and scratched from the crash, when they'd skittered and tumbled across the road. but I had them. Animé Priss stared defiantly back from the covers, helmet tucked under her arm. I dropped them on the floor, giving them one last forlorn look before I brought my boot down on top of them. The breeze picked up the wreckage of the case, and sucked the whole lot out the window into the night. Another little piece of my former life, gone forever. I got one last glimpse of animé Priss, before she was gone.

It seemed a shame to destroy them, but needs must.

I turned back to Mason's desk, in the hopes of finding some interesting goodies, just in time to receive a message from my own 'slave.

MR5: ENEMY DETECTED flashed up in hazardous red letters, accompanied by an a chirping electric alarm.

Not now! I glanced over at the yellow machine. It had dropped to a crouch, readying its weapon. I sent a message back, demanding more info. What I got, was a radar overlay showing 5 combat boomers approaching down the corridor outside. More were upstairs. Others were approaching from the far side of the building, but were still several minutes away.

Little red blips.

Each one powerful enough to rip me to meaty shreds of armour and gore.

What do I do?

"_Pinku,_ we have problem coming."

My voice was shaking again.

"I need another minute, hold them off."

Easy for her to say, she's sitting there at a computer terminal. I've to actually fight the bloody things. I took one breath of cool, dry air. This was my job. I was trained to fight. I was armed to the teeth. It was time to go earn my pay.

"I'll try, just be quick."

I walked to my 'slave, standing with the machine facing the mahogany double doors. I watched the boomers approach on my HUD, quenching my fears as best I could. 20 metres away.

"_Orenji__,__ Shiroi_," interrupted Sylia, "We're on the summit. Start your diversion now."

I left the channel open to listen in.

"_Midori_ take left. _Aoi_ right. I'll deal with target _Kuroi_ personally."

The others acknowledged with a quick, "Right!"

"Mr. Mason. Is it just yourself to meet us?"

I didn't expect to hear the answer.

"I'm afraid not, Miss Stingray." Smug and arrogant, he sounded like he was in complete control. "Oh don't look so surprised, I've known for a while. I see you're down 1 member as well. Was the redhead hurt in the fire?"

Shit! He knows about me.

"We may be down a member, but that will not dampen our resolve. Tonight Mason, you _will _die."

And she loved telling him as much.

"Silly rabbit," he scorned, "I should've finished you off ten years ago, along with your father. A mistake I intend to rectify tonight," He'd clearly forgotten the old saying. Hell hath no fury like Sylia scorned.

He still didn't know we were down here, did he? Or was he keeping that fact secret? The boomers wouldn't be there unless he'd know, unless they were just a standard patrol, coming to investigate a broken window. They mightn't be expecting heavy firepower.

I switched my 'slave's objective to 'Cover me', before edging towards the doorway. One last check of my gear. 1-2 gun was charged and ready. My knuckleguard slammed closed over my left hand, safeties coming off the explosive charges. S-mines were ready and live. The motoroid was waiting for my lead. I started a countdown, under my breath, swallowing massive gulps of oxygen.

3… 2… 1…

One punch from my left hand splintered the door, explosive charges firing with a sharp bang. Immediately, I was faced by what seemed to be a man, broad shouldered and heavily built, his body hidden within a black suit. He was walking towards me with a weighty stride, feet thudding on the tiled floor. His expression was hidden by a pair of black glasses, but I was sure it was one of surprise.

He was staring down the twin barrels of my 1-2 gun.

I fired, lasers strobing in the dust. The boomer staggered back, armour, pseudoflesh and fabric bursting free, leaving a smoking crater in its chest. Another shot to the face blew its head clean off in a shower of orange fluids and electronic sparks.

It dropped to the ground, smoking and spasming, loose cables lashing as litres of vital juices pulsed out. Its friend behind it seemed to be thinking a little faster… already it was tearing itself out of its disguise, human visage melting and snapping away, clothes splitting along predetermined seams. It never even got halfway out.

Two thudding shots blasted past me from behind. Fractions of a second later, it paused on its feet, before exploding, filling the far end of the corridor with a wall of orange flame, inky black smoke rolling across the ceiling. Shrapnel pattered and dinged of my armour.

"Nice one!"

The motoroid merely sent a ': )' as a message to show how pleased with itself it was. Cautiously, I edged forward towards the flames, motioning the AI machine to follow. Fire was already lapping at the decapitated boomer on the floor, catching hold of leaking oils.

Its batteries touched off with a blinding white flash, concussive pressure blowing tiles free from the roof, shattering already damaged light fixtures, causing marble wall cladding to drop to the floor with a hollow ceramic crash. Sparks spewed from ruptured power lines, gasses boiling out of air conditioners and service lines. Finally realising that something was wrong, the fire alarm decided to sound, a piercing, wailing moan, like the building could feel itself burning.

Halon systems spewed white gas and powder from overhead vents, smothering the flames and my field of vision. All I could see was a pale white mist, swallowing the corridor. I was blind, barely able to see my own hands.

My mind wheeled over, trying to remember what I was supposed to do. My HUD was picking out targets all around, bits of debris raining from the ceiling.

"_Fire in Central Dogma. Cell section Romeo Charlie 1138 Kilo Foxtrot. All personnel clear affected area, fire suppression teams en-route."_

Maybe that one announcement was the moment Mason realised someone had just flushed the toilet he'd spent his entire life drinking from. Or maybe not, I had far more immediate concerns. I glanced back to my 'slave, now hidden in the gas.

It was over three meters tall, and hadn't been more than three meters behind, and I couldn't see it. Even its IFF didn't give a signal.

I wiped the optics built into my helmet with the fingers of my glove, hoping they were just covered with powder. No such luck. Thermal? No, still a whiteout. Radar? No, nothing but interference. Was I getting jammed somehow? Nené could deal with that, but Nené was busy. Okay, now it's time to panic. I'm blind, in a corridor with three Bu-55's who would like nothing more than to tear me limb from limb.

Okay, my hardsuit has ECCM, I just need to figure out how I was being jammed and counter...

I was cut off mid-thought by a shadow looming out of the fog, a black amorphous shape rapidly forming into a pair of bulbous arms, attached to a grinning steel face with fiendish red eyes. Panicked adrenaline surged through my systems, raising my gun to try fight.

I shot wide, laser beam tracing a burning yellow path through the mist before blasting a hole in the ceiling. A muffled orange flash of flame was swallowed by the gas.

The 55-C hit me like a tonne of bricks, slamming me hard into the wall, kicking the wind out of my lungs. Lightning shots of pain cracked across my chest, angry red warnings flickering across my display. I gritted my teeth, trying to push free, myomers straining against servos. Its grip was crushing, pinning me by my arms against the marble walls.

One shot... all I needed was one shot. I had to get my laser in.

The 55 was irresistible, pulling my arms down, painfully stretching tendons, cracking bone and armour. Desperately, I kicked at it. It was like kicking a steel wall. Remains of its disguise still hung off its body, scorched and burned, molten plastic having pooled in cracks between its blue metal armour. Its teeth were permanently fixed in a jolly-roger grin, framing a guttural snarl.

"Get off!" I grunted, struggling in its iron grip.

Armoured hoses pulsed with hydraulic power, pressure on my joints increasing. Alarms in my mind warned of damage to my shoulders and elbows, braces buckling and straining. I felt my right elbow pop first, metal bracing shearing loose of the bone.

It didn't hurt. It was only metal, a protection for tendons and bones from enthusiastic owners.

I screamed with fury, wondering just where the hell my motoroid was, trying to scrape for some leverage. Metal boots on smooth marble however, weren't a going concern. Seeing I was pinned, it decided to finish the matter...

With an electronic growl it sucked in cooling air. It's mouth opened wide, ready to vomit up a terminal laser blast. An anti-materiel weapon, designed to punch through armour at ranges a hundred meters or more away, it needed time to charge. I could see my helmet reflected in the lens, a terrible red light flickering inside. Just one little pop through the head, and its troubles would be over.

I had 2 seconds to live.

Just 2 seconds while it charged its capacitors.

One last roll of the dice, one last chance. Somebody help me... someone. Just get it off! I don't want this!

One last idea.

I was going to feel like such an idiot if it didn't work. But... I at least I'd have the consolation of not having to worry about it for too long.

My jump jets kicked in with a roar. For one heart rending instant, nothing happened. I felt the boomer tense, pushing harder. A pink light flickered deep within the laser.

Too late!

"No!" I shrieked, kicking off the wall.

I felt myself launch forward, twisting in the boomers grip. I felt my arm twist in its socket, tendons popping as they snapped and let go. I felt the pain, like someone'd injected molten steel right into the shoulder, but I was already screaming. The boomer fired, pink beam lacerating the air, scorching the armour on my helmet. I could feel the heat of it nipping at my ear. It missed! The pair of us cannoned into an opposite doorway, the wooden firedoor holding for the briefest of instants before bursting into splinters, sending the pair of us tumbling through.

I landed in a heap on my side, emergency systems detecting the fall and killing the boosters. The boomer stumbled, playing hopscotch on one foot, trying to hold itself up. Head still spinning, my programming kicked in.

I kicked out at it, swinging for that one leg. It toppled like a tower, crashing to the ground. Halon gas was creeping in through the broken door, but the view in the office was still clear. It was down, but it was unhurt. I had one imperative...

I had to kill it. I had to kill it. I had to kill it right then or it'd get me. It _had_ to die.

I pushed myself to my knees, pains bulleting through my right arm. Why was it always that one arm? I could feel torn strips of metal moving inside, cutting at muscles. It was only the hardsuit motors holding me up, my arm inside was wrecked.

Repair time: Negative without assistance, my hardware warned.

The boomer was trying to pick itself up, metal hands struggling for grip on a smooth tiled floor. First to their feet would be the one who walked away. Simple, a race for life. Panting, biting back on pain, there was one last thing to do.

Halfway to its feet, it looked up at me, terminator eyes still burning with a baleful red glow. Its mouth was still open, ready to scream, ready to fire. It had to recharge...

I checked the knucklebombers mounted on my knuckleguard. One was fired. Three left. Brilliant.

I slammed my fist right through the crown of its skull. "Fuck you!" The first charge detonated with a slap, pulping its brains, bursting the head like a melon hit by a baseball bat. The second charge smashed a pathway through its neck, shattering spine and neural circuits, spraying blood and oil and shards of steel.

The remains of the head dropped off, two halves falling to each side, hitting the floor with a hollow ring. Torn cables smouldered and spat sparks as they shorted themselves.

My arm was buried up to the elbow in wreckage.

It shuddered one last time, sympathetic nerve responses trying to execute the last commands the brain had sent before the body finally figured out that it was dead.

Wisps of halon licked at the wreckage. Remembering the open door, I looked up to see another 55, its bulk silhouetted black against the lights outside. Those same red eyes stared back at me. It surged forward, building momentum for a final charge.

Ignoring the protesting pain, I raised my right arm and shot it once... twice... three times, punching three smoking holes in its torso. One would've been enough. It stumbled forward, tumbling face-first to the floor. The wreck scratched along the titles, carried forward by its own momentum for another few meters, before smashing into its wrecked brother, knocking me off my feet.

I landed on my back, armour taking up the bulk of the shock.

Relief coursed through my veins, cooling the agonies biting through my arm.

Something exploded in the corridor, white mist riding the shockwave into the room. ': )' the 'slave outside messaged me. It had gotten the last one.

I wanted nothing more to lay there on that floor and wait for someone to carry me home. I was panting, gasping for air, my breath ringing off my helmet faceplate.

Half a second and it would've had me. Another few centimetres and it would've taken the side out of my helmet, and my head.

A hair's breath in time and distance.

Another 'almost killed' to ad to the list. I could still see the pink glow building within the laser. I was still shaking as I lay on my back. Pain was still sparking in my arm, but already I could feel the pins and needles tingle as my body tried to heal itself. Other aches and pains warred for attention, fighting a full blown battle in my chest.

My hardsuit wasn't much better. Icons warned of fractures across the chest and back, a failed servomotor. My thrusters were leaking fuel and a few cells in the batteries had failed. One of the heat sinks had been crushed and the other was beginning to get a little hot. My knucklebombers were used, except for one; the 1-2 gun was at 80% power, thanks to the damaged cells. I still had the 6 mines though.

None of that mattered.

I was still alive.

I'd rather have been naked in a hot spring, surrounded by my friends complimenting my perfect body, sensually rubbing oils into my figure.

"_Kiiroi,"_ Nené violated my fantasy, "I'm done here, I've got the data."

Could she not have given me a few more moments to myself?

"_Pinku,_" I coughed out, "Acknowledged."

Time to go to work.

"_Shiiroi, Orenji,_" I hailed Sylia "Completed objective one."

There was no answer.

Was Sylia already d...

"_Orenji,_ Good work. Give them an itch to scratch."

As abrupt as a full stop at the end of a sentence, the channel cut. Sylia's mind was elsewhere. She was panting hard… like she'd just run a marathon twice. And I don't think it was because she was up there having armoured fun with Priss and Linna.

Give them an itch to scratch, just like that Star Trek episode with the Borg. If we did as much damage as we could down here, Mason would have to divert his reinforcements away from the summit to deal with us. If he didn't, someone in the Tower would. And as they were doing that, myself and Nené would be making our way up top to finally pincer Mason.

Divide, misdirect, conquer.

6 S-Mines… That's at least six valuable research projects reduced to wreckage, more if I get creative.

I pushed myself to my feet again, whimpering as the pain in my shoulder became too much. Broken metal was tearing through flesh inside, slicing like a knife. Tears were welling up, a scream of agony rising in my throat, but I fought them down. I could feel something cold and sticky starting to trickle down my arm.

A broken plate of armour dropped from the hardsuit's back, hitting the floor with crack.

"_Pinku…"_ I tried the comm.

"I heard," Nené came back, "Are we taking the motoslaves?"

I must've been the only person to pronounce that with an 'r'. While having the sheer firepower of the 'slaves would be nice… and there was definitely something thrilling about the idea of riding a motorcycle through a building… we didn't need them anymore, in tight quarters they'd get in the way.

"No," I said trying not to throw up. "Others need them more."

It nearly killed me to say it, my own 'slave had probably just saved my factory-built hide.

"I've seen what they're up against, they'll need it," was Nené's answer. "Mason's throwing everything he can at them."

She sounded almost scared for them; I could hear the worry shaking her voice. For a moment, I questioned whether I really wanted to charge up there to the rescue. I was damaged, my hardsuit too, my right arm was reduced to a quivering mass of mincemeat thanks to my braces having been twisted off their bones. Another reminder if I needed it that I literally wasn't build for this sort of thing

I was doing a job I wasn't designed for. I was already injured, and hurting badly. There'd be no shame in just running away, would there?

Yeah, like right. I'd hate myself for it if I did. If I was up there, they'd come for me. I really wasn't in any condition to fight a running battle.

But look on the bright side, I told myself, the pain in my chest doesn't seem so bad thanks to my arm. Some bloody bright side!

Grimacing, but still able to live with it, I walked slowly out into the corridor, mingling with the thinning mist. I could feel the damage in my armour, plates scraping and grinding off each other where the motor trusses had been bent. Actuators were sticking and whining, making it hard to walk smoothly.

My 'slave was standing ready, over the smashed remains of another 55. It was a little scorched, but seemed happy.

The mists parted around Nené, revealing the pink Saber's armour to still be pristine and polished. Reflections of sparks from overhead cables danced across the gloss paint like burning stars.

She caught her first sight of me, and for an instant, was lost for words

"You're a mess," she managed to force out.

"I feel a mess," I responded, swallowing the pain.

Whoever designed the sexaroids to feel pain… I hope he's burning in hell.

"You're _hurt!_"

She pulled around beside me, inspecting the damage to the back of the suit. One of the booster nozzles came off in her hand.

"A little," A lot. I was crying inside my helmet. Every little jolt was a new slash to my arm. I could feel the metal scraping the inside of the hardsuit, tugging and cutting the flesh around it. "Where is first near lab?"

"Future Generation compact power research, about a hundred meters away," was the answer. "Same floor, no enemy between us an it."

I got the map in front of me a few moments later, boomers highlighted red, our path through the building yellow. The red dots were approaching, converging on the office behind.

"Brilliant. Set motorslaves go to roof. Then go."

I bit down on my lip to keep from screaming, another hot torch of agony flaring up inside my shoulder.

The hardsuit beside me nodded, "I hope they're OK."

At least my legs still worked fine.

The 'slaves left, boosting up out Mason's window, engine exhausts flaring a bright blue against the black backdrop. It was just the pair of us… against everything corporate GENOM could throw at us.

Even with both arms missing, and hopping on one leg, Priss would've still said 'Bring it on', probably followed by 'It's just a flesh wound'. I wasn't Priss.

I was _scared…_

I didn't want to fight anymore. Not tonight anyway. I wanted to go home and have a shower. Come back tomorrow and have another go, take another bite at this level of the game. But… it was my job, and despite the fact that I was viewing the world through screen and HUD, this was no game.

And no way was I going to let my friends down.

I had to do it.

Something tells me anyway, I had the easier job of the night.

"We going?" asked Nené. She was ready.

I wasn't.

I nodded anyway. If I'd said anything, I'd've thrown up across my visor.

They'd do it for me.

-----

Running was hard. The pair of us were being closed down on quickly by building security. Red dots were moving in, trying to ensnare us in a trap.

I counted 10 patrols, and if each of those had 5 or so 55C's like the last one. The two of us'd have a tough time dealing with one of them. Well, thank God for small miracles and Nené's jamming, at least they weren't getting too close.

I struggled to get enough air, tiredness creeping through my limbs. I was literally bleeding energy out. I knew how bad it was. I could feel it tearing a little more with each step, blood leaking out. My body did its best to close off the flow, but running full tilt through a building really didn't help. It felt like a bad Victorian surgeon was taking his time about hacking the arm off, savouring each and every grinding cut.

It was run and cry, or stand and die.

And I had to keep reminding myself of that with every step.

"Just keep moving," I whispered to myself, "Just keep moving." The mantra for survival.

Of course, I knew why I'd been hurt. I broke rule 1 about fighting in a hardsuit. I stopped moving, and let myself get pinned down. The Saber's strength was speed and manoeuvrability, a nice counter to the sheer raw power of a battleboomer.

"If you let them grapple with you, they will tear you apart," Sylia had warned me, right at the start of my first training session. "Keep moving, and keep out of their reach."

I could hear those words echoing with each metallic footstep.

"Turn right here," signalled Nené, a nice little indicator flashing up on my HUD for my benefit. "There's a partition door to keep intruders out. I'll have to hack the lock. If anything comes, you'll have to keep them off my back."

This was going to turn into one of those 'escort the weakling NPC' type missions, wasn't it? I always hated those.

"How long?"

I guessed about a minute before we were knee deep in boomers, probably less.

"Thirty seconds to a minute."

Just long enough to ratchet up the tension.

"I have cutting…" I winced as another pain bit deep "… laser. Can cut door. Might be fast."

And maybe, Nené could watch my back. And anyway, to cut the door, I just have to cut the lock bolts, that can't be too hard. The pair of us rounded a corner, trying not to skid on the tiled floors, to be met by a single yellow sign, with hazardous black letters printed on it.

"**Unauthorised access prohibited. Punishment for violation is immediate termination and/or fine of 6 months pay."**

Something told me they never expected an intruder to get this far in.

The sign was bolted to a single armoured door. On the surface, it looked normal, just another wood veneered firedoor. But on closer inspection, it was obvious it was far more substantial. For one thing, the door's bolts were recessed and hidden, locks mounted to the wall, not the door itself. It'd take an hour or more to laser through, and blasting it wouldn't do much good either.

"So, I'll hack the lock then."

She didn't have to say it out loud. Network connectors into a small silver panel mounted on the wall, and Nené set about working her wizardly magic. I turned my back to her, considering my options. When something came up that corridor… not if, but _when_… we'd be trapped against the doorway.

Red dots were advancing quickly, homing in by process of elimination. If the intruders weren't at Mason's office, what would be the most logical direction they would travel in? It had taken the pair of us about 40 seconds to get to the door, from the office.

One of the dots was rapidly approaching, it's friends closing in around it. Inexorably advancing, while the pair of us stood, trapped at a dead end.

"How long?"

"About a third done."

I did the math. The boomers would arrive with about 10-15 seconds to spare. Just enough time to kill two trapped rats. Oh hell… Hurry up Nené… Get that poxy door open!

I have to buy time. How do I buy 10 seconds? I can't fight them head on by myself, not hurting as bad as I am anyway. I could barely raise my gun arm without screaming. I had 1 knuckle bomber, and 6 S-mines.

Against up to 5 battleboomers.

Take them on, and die. Stand here waiting for Nené, and die. Both of us would die. Maybe, if I didn't worry about getting away, Nené could…

Don't even think about it!

I have to do _something…_

30 seconds.

I guess I have to. How do I beat them? What can I do to distract them, to give myself an edge? I left Nené by the door, deciding not to say anything in case I distracted her. The corridor was empty.

Black Marble walls with plush red carpeting. Light fixtures on the ceiling were mounted in brushed metal. Mason's style had definitely taken root. Nowhere to hide and spring a trap, just 8 meters of bare walls between myself, and a small t-junction, branching off to the right.

Spaced every 3 meters or so, was a single overhead light, hanging from what was even a marbled ceiling. No money was spared for the executive elite.

I could hear the thumping of steel feet on false stone, approaching rapidly. Thump, thump, thump, timing out the racing beat of my heart.

Not much time left.

Another biting pain gnawed at my shoulder, reminding me of my last near death experience. I thought about the blast taking the boomer out, and how the fire suppression had kicked in. I'd been caught off guard by it… maybe I could use it?

20 seconds. Quick plan. Ignoring the pains in my body, I snatched an S-mine in my hand, and hid it behind a light in such a way that nobody coming along that corridor would be physically capable of seeing it. A little adhesive tab on the back held it in place.

"This side toward enemy," was facing down. As needed. This was just what I'd been trained to do.

I just had to draw back towards Nené, and wait for the right moment. With a little luck, I'd be able to tell by the shadows. I thought about setting another 2 low down, but I didn't have the time. Getting caught planting them would ruin the surprise.

I took a few seconds to check over my wounded suit. 2 out of 5 battery cells were dead, another was draining fast, leaving a trail of red-acid splashes on the floor as the electrolyte seeped out. One of the motors was overheating from the run, and the remaining heat sink had stopped a few degrees short of redline, and was falling slowly.

I disabled the auto-shutdown. If it was going to overheat, let it. If it got too high, the motors would seize, or else the batteries would explode. But those things were always conservative anyway.

"_Pinku_, we have company," I radioed, keeping my voice a whisper.

"I know," was the answer I got back, "Just keep them off my back for another few seconds, I've almost got it."

Easy for you to say...

"I have bomb set. Wait for warning."

There was a sharp intake of breath.

"Roger."

Nené kept working. 10 seconds, maybe a little less. I could hear them coming, stomping footfalls shaking the concrete.

"Hold," I heard one say, its voice gruff and leaden. It sounded huge, "2-Sierra Tango. Door Romeo-431-Kilo. Tango expecting us. Take slow, engage and destroy. Boss' orders, Minimise hardware damage, make sure the wetware suffers."

"They killed patrol 187 Delta. They deserve it," another answered.

Three other machine voices acknowledge with a synchronised "Confirmed."

Their footfalls slowed. I crouched down, ready to roll with the blast. Fear was gone. I was in control. I was going to get the drop on them. It was all about control. They thought they had it, they thought they had us cornered.

Programming cleared my mind, self-defence subroutines mingling with my training, reassuring me that I could do this. There was nothing but 'now', nothing but that bulky shadow advancing across the floor.

3…

I raised my hand. Nené crouched down against the door, stretching connectors.

2…

"Be ready to run," she whispered.

1…

The lead machine was standing right under the trap, just around the corner. It still couldn't see me. I didn't move. I didn't breathe. I was a statue.

"FIRE IN THE HOLE!" I bellowed, speakers crackling as they strained.

I detonated the mine.

The blast engulfed the lead in a ball of black smoke and flame, shockwave slapping against my chest, sending stinging pains shooting through my body. Grimacing, I stood up, ready to fight. Fractions of a second later, the boomer's batteries and thruster fuel went up, blasting it apart in a hail of metal and polymer. On my feet, but still crouching low, I readied my knuckle bomber. Biting back on the pain, I crept around the corner, revealing myself. The fire alarm started to wail.

Two feet stood resolutely among the burning metals and the smashed remains of wall and ceiling tiles. Overhead lights shorted out, plunging the corridor into semi-darkness. I could see the second boomer, scorched and smoking, still as stunned as it was possible for a boomer to be. Its red eyes glinted as it saw me. Recovering its artificial wits, it made to charge me down.

The fire suppression kicked in, flooding the room white, jamming any sensors… even the 55's. It couldn't see me, I couldn't see it. It'd keep charging, expecting to meet a standing opponent. That's how they fought, they closed in on their victim so they couldn't outmanoeuvre them, and then used sheer brute power to smash, bash and immobilise, before a coup-de-grace with the laser.

I dropped to my hands and knees, curling myself into a solid, armoured ball. Pains stabbed in my arm, but I ignored them, and braced for the hit. Thudding footsteps sent shockwaves through the floor and armour.

I yelped when it hit me, kicking square in the side of my stomach, cracking armour and sending a lightning bolt of pain crackling through my stomach, knocking me to my side. I rode through it on a wave of determined adrenaline.

Gasping for breath, swallowing new agonies, I hauled myself back to my feet, though still in a low crouch, I waited for the third. It came out of the mist moments later, lunging forward with an inhuman growl. A black shadow coalesced into a single, sweeping arm, aiming to take my head clear off my shoulder. I ducked under, jabbing upwards with a left fist. It tried to sweep around and drive a crunching punch through the back of my helmet.

I caught it under the armpit with the last knuckle bomber, blowing its left arm clean off in a shower of sparks, and a spray of orange fluids. Wounded, it stumbled backwards, its own attack sweeping wild. Raising my gun arm, I spun on one foot, tracking it as it stumbled past, a slave to its own momentum.

I finished it off with a blast to the back of the neck, destroying the spine, body taking a few seconds to fall over. The head dropped off and rolled, red-eyes slowly dimming as the light of artificial life left them. It didn't burn; the halon snuffed any flames before they could take hold.

Two down.

The one that had kicked me was on its knees, trying to push itself back to its feet. I could barely see it through the haze. One… two… three blasts from the 1-2 gun put it down.

That made three in 5 seconds.

A piece of the ceiling decided it was time to let go, falling with a smash. Two more left. My blood was boiling, my whole body quivering as if a small electric current was pumping through its veins. I didn't want to die. I wanted to win. I was winning. Bring on number 4!

It was probably already rushing up behind.

I spun ready to face it, not quite sure what I was going to do to it. I was too close for an S-mine, I'd blow myself up. No knucklebombers left. Just the gun. It lunged for me, too quick for me to get a shot at it.

I'd done this in training, just step aside as the hologram lunges. Watch it fly past on its own momentum, and attack its back.

I pinned myself against the wall, trying to get out of its way. For a fraction of an instant, I thought I'd made it. It spun on its heels, swatting at me with its open hand. The blow caught me across the chest, punching the air out of my lungs and slamming me back into the wall, making my vision swim. The hardsuit displays flickered and fizzed, systems tripping and resetting. Tears welled up, a whimper rising in my throat.

Staggering away from it, struggling to stay on my feet, gasping for air, I raised my gun and fired. The yellow beam lanced through the air, made visible by the smoke, both shots flickering too fast for the hardsuit's vision systems to distinguish.

Missed!

It whirled around, opening its jaws to fire. Where's the fifth? Focusing on my target, I aimed right for the centre of the chest. I had one shot.

I fired, hitting it square in the body. It staggered back, armour bursting open. But it didn't go down. I fired again, punching another hole, and another. Why wouldn't it die?

Die you fucker!

Pink light flickered inside its mouth. It was going to shoot. One last try. Aim for the existing damage. One last shot! If I missed, I was dead.

I hit the mark, dead on, laser blast punching through the entire machine. It staggered back, laser cannon sparking, scoring the roof before it tumbled over onto its back, still twitching.

Four down.

Why didn't my gun kill it in one shot? 40% power available. Overheat warnings blared as the heat sinks began to cook, electronic systems throttling back to try save themselves from incineration. The third cell was completely empty now, leaving me with only two batteries.

A laser shot arced out of the gloom, blistering forwards, scoring the walls as it snapped around. Seeing it in the mist, I had the briefest moment to duck before it cut my head from my shoulders.

Bloody hell…

The final boomer came charging forward, thinking it had either killed me, or taken me off balance. My mind was spin locking, trying to figure out how to deal with it. Why couldn't it just go away? I had to use the mines…

Pulling one from the rack on my hip, I readied it in a flash. Panting, I stood waiting for it. A half second in time spreading to eternity.

At the last moment, I sidestepped, ducking under a blow designed to decapitate as I slapped the mine onto its stomach. Before it could spin round and grab me, I took off running full pelt down the corridor, hoping to pull some distance.

"FIRE IN THE HOLE!" I bellowed again, hoping Nené would get the idea.

This is going to hurt.

I counted. 2 seconds. I didn't dare risk any longer, or else I'd be giving it an open shot right at my back. The mine detonated with a distant crump, blast smacking me hard in the back, sending my tumbling arse over tip through the air. I could hear myself screaming inside my helmet, hoping the armour would take one more hit.

I landed face first, cracking the visor, before tumbling onto my back, throwing bent pieces of armour free.

Debris rained down on top of me, lights flickering distantly.

I was lying on my back, staring right up, moaning. Warnings flashed on my visor, listing damage to the hardsuit. Surprisingly light, considering. A few missing plates, a few buckles, one of the motor trusses had begun to fail, but it was still working.

My body on the other hand… I felt like I'd been run over by a truck, which'd then reversed for good measure to finish the job. Warnings from my software told me I'd lost near half a litre of blood, warned of broken rips, announced damaged regulators inside my body and demanded I get help.

It wasn't mortal yet, I knew that… no matter how bad I felt, I wasn't going to die from this, but I wasn't far off. A little more blood loss and I'd start to have problems. My whole repair systems were on the verge of shutting down; systems that relied on a careful balance of blood pressures and electrolyte levels were straining to their limits.

If this was a video game, my life-bar'd be well into the red.

I wanted nothing more than to rest, to just lie there for a few minutes and let my body recover. Should've brought the motorslaves.

"_Kiiroi, Pinku,_ I've got it!"

I didn't want to move. I just wanted to lie there and rest. I really wasn't built for this, and it showed. A human, after what I'd been through, might've been bruised, they'd've dislocated the joints in their arm, and maybe cracked a rib or two, but they'd still be standing. One point for _Homo sapiens_ then…

"_Kiiroi…"_

Nené was starting to get worried.

"I'm alive," I forced out.

"Well hurry up, there's more coming!"

I'd never felt so tired in my life. I didn't want to move. I was still gasping for air, chest heaving. Do I want to just lay there and die? There was no way I'd survive another one-on-one and I knew it. My blood-sugar was falling, body trying to compensate for damage by shutting down as much as it could.

I guessed I had maybe 10 minutes before I passed out, barring any help. Either running through the Tower, or just lying there on my back, wouldn't make much difference either way. Sylia could help me, GENOM would just make sure those ten minutes, were ten minutes of pain.

Besides, I wouldn't get paid if I got killed.

"I'm on my way."

Pushing myself to my feet again, still sucking on pains, I forced myself to run, trying not to trip over the wreckage.

"Hurry up!" Pleaded the Pink Saber, "I can't hold it forever."

Holding a door, compared to holding off 5 battleboomers?

"I am. Hardsuit damaged."

5 boomers in 30 seconds, I was sure that would impress Priss. The corridor was left a mess, anyway. The steel framework beneath the panelling had been buckled, HVAC and power cables dangling from the ceiling.

I saw Nené, jammed between the door and the wall, holding it open with her feet jammed into the runners on the floor. Servomotors were screaming, trying to crush her between door and frame.

White gas was seeping through into the labs beyond. I thought I could hear panicked voices shouting, but couldn't make out what they were saying above the fire alarms and the PA system.

"_Security compromise in sector Zulu-Zulu-Niner Plural Zulu-Alpha. All units converge on this sector. Intruders to be apprehended under protection of Corporate Secrets Act. Priority to sector. Personnel trapped in sector initiate lockdown procedures. Intruders are armed and dangerous." _

Well... we made them scratch.

My hardsuit temperature was redlining, heat soaking through into my body, systems threatening to shut down or seize. The remaining heat sink was reading over 100 Celsius and rising quickly. It just had to last another 5 seconds, and then I could give it time to cool.

I picked my spot to jump through, hoping I could do it without tripping, or kicking Nené. I leapt between her and the door, without even breaking my stride, landing on my feet. Nené rolled out of the way, the door slamming shut behind her, catching on one of her suit's antennae.

"Damn," she yelped, tugging at it. The antenna snapped off at the base, pulling a few cables loose.

I braced myself against a white-painted concrete wall, struggling to catch my breath. I was sweating buckets. I was shivering, feeling freezing cold inside, but burning hot on my skin. My body desperately wanted to throw up, telling me I needed to make room for more food. It was screaming for sugar, I could feel the beginnings of a headache already.

"I need..." I took a breath, "... a moment to rest."

The air seemed cooler somehow. Maybe it was an effect of the bare white walls, or the simple hard-wearing green flooring. The lighting was harsh and bright, overhead striplights providing far more illumination than was necessary. I guessed if I'd opened my visor, the air would've reeked of disinfectant... it was that sort of place. A number of metal signs pointed the way to different research departments, from biomechatronics to cyberdynamics and beyond.

They reminded me somewhat of those department signs in hospitals.

"That was lucky," said the pink suit.

"Yeah," I breathed.

Another pair of close calls. That made three for the day. Four was death. I was starting to hate that bloody pun.

"They must've been block-1 models, there's no way you'd've beaten later models like that."

"Block 1?" I wondered.

"Yeah, older models, the first to be built." Nené explained, "They're probably 4 years old or more. GENOM uses them as basic security. Even us ADPolice can take them down regularly."

So, I was fighting the boomer equivalent of Windows XP vanilla, when the Knight Sabers' normal foes were the equivalent of Service Pack 3... just so much better than the basic ones. Thank Christ for that. Some people might've been disappointed, but I just starting laughing, cackling, gallows laughter.

"At least I got 'em."

Nené nodded, "All of GENOM is coming down on top of us, we better get out of there."

Something started to bang at the door.

"I changed the codes," said the hardsuit proudly. "Nothing can come from behind us, but they're sealing all the exits off."

"They have us trapped," I realised. Oh for fuck's sake! I wanted to scream.

"Check your map, I'm updating our coordinates."

It flickered for a moment, zooming into our position, deep inside the core of the Tower. It looked even more hopeless. Okay Meg... I told myself... just focus. This has already been planned out. Sylia knew we'd be sealed in here; she must've planned a route out. I traced the yellow path, passing by five targets of opportunity, to a lift shaft. There was no stop on this level, it was an express lift that went straight through, all the way to an observation deck a few floors below the summit… but it did offer a path out that mightn't be guarded.

"Lift Bravo 42," I pointed it out. "I blast into shaft."

"And it's right beside their sensitive data storage."

I could hear the smile on Nené's face.

"Alright," I exhaled, "Mission time, 6 minutes 45 seconds. We have about 5 minutes to get to the roof."

"Drop a few targets then?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "Hit the servers, and one lab. Then hitch a lift."

I tried to smile. It seemed doable. It seemed like we might live.

"If we take Compact power research, we can shortcut through here," a new route highlighted on my map, "through the cold-air experiments lab. It should cut some time off."

I took one last deep breath, biting back on my pains, making sure my hardsuit temps were back to reasonably safe limits.

"45 seconds to lab, 15 seconds to blow. A minute to the server room. Yeah, that's doable, Let's go."

The pair of us took off again.

I wondered how Sylia was doing upstairs. Maybe Mason was already dead.

-----

30 seconds of hard running, and we reached the first lab. I stopped for a second outside the door, taking a few seconds to wonder why such sensitive parts of the building were, essentially unguarded. I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Mason fucked up his security, it's his bloody problem.

Taking a few moments to let the heat bleed off, I could hear voices inside.

"People inside, be careful," I said, to Nené.

The pains in my arm were starting to dull. That meant one thing, my arm was getting worse. The nerves were starting to fail.

"I'll take left."

I hoped nobody inside was armed. I hoped nobody decided to take down the evil terrorists. That's what we were to them. No matter what they did, they weren't to be harmed. I didn't want to commit a massacre. But, they had to _believe_ we would, otherwise they could cause a serious problem. We had to control them, or they'd fight back.

If that happened... I didn't want to think about it. Something about it scared me more than those 55C's.

_Terrorist organisation massacres scientists_ was not the headline I wanted to be greeted by in the morning. And it definitely wasn't something I wanted on my conscience.

"Weapons safe, no accidents," I ordered, cutting power to my laser, and locking the mine racks. Nené did the same. "I go first."

I kicked down the door, and went looking for trouble.

It burst open, tearing from its hinges and falling on the floor. Someone screamed briefly, more of a yelp drowned by a few panicked gasps. I stepped to the right, bumping off a waist high workbench. Nené came in behind me.

Quickly, I scanned the room, following a waist high workbench around the walls. It was loaded with tech-gear that went way beyond my understanding, arranged carefully between computer terminals and parts-bins. A number of blueprints hung on the walls, mixed with a motivational poster featuring a boomer helping a kitten back up onto a rope.

_Just a gentle hand supporting the weak and vulnerable, _it read.

On a table in the centre, was what looked like an oversized pipe-bomb, a meter long, about half a meter in diameter, and machined out of solid metal, one end was open, sprouting thick copper cables and corrugated conduits.

Three scientists, two men, one woman, stared back at me. The woman was a mirror image of myself, though maybe ten years older, and with green eyes. One man was a little shorter, and a lot older, balding and nearing retirement, the other was taller than both; almost rat-like with small eyes and a sharp nose, skin drawn taught over terrified features.

"What… what do you want with us?"

His voice shrank down.

"Hand on head," I commanded, raising my laser, making damn sure I didn't point it at anyone.

Never point a weapon at something you don't want to destroy. We were professionals, we didn't want to have any Pulp Fiction accidents.

"Do it!" yelled Nené.

In her hardsuit, the short police dispatcher would've seemed ten foot tall to the scientists. The data ports on her wrist were to them cannon barrels, metallic death-spitters capable of shredding them to bloody pieces.

Their hands slowly crept up, the trio exchanging nervous glances.

"Out the door and off this floor!" I directed, trying not to sound like I was in as much pain as I was, "Unless you want explode with lab."

"We've spent years on this!" yelled my doppelganger, "You can't just come in here and blow it up because you're pissed that it was GENOM and not some ethnic peace corporation!," She was redfaced with anger, one of her colleagues trying to hold her back.

"Don't annoy the terrorists," the elder of her colleagues warned.

I sighed. If we'd been real terrorists, we'd've made our points with laser fire sometime after the word 'pissed'.

"You realise how much good these compact pinch plasma fusion reactors will do for people?" the rant continued, "Cheap power for the masses…"

"More exploitation by Quincy." I shut her up, "Just get out."

Don't argue with the armed, armoured women, no matter how in pain they sound.

"It's okay Megan," the elderly scientist reassured her, "We've got everything on the server, they won't set us back more than a day."

And of course, he made it perfectly clear that he wasn't just reassuring Meg-2.

"Well you won't mind us blowing it up then," deadpanned the pink hardsuit.

Meg-2 shot a glare that burned through her helmet visor for that. The scientists left running, still cursing us halfway down the corridor.

"Relative of yours?" queried Nené.

"Body off shelf model," I tried to wave it off, a nervous quiver rising in my voice. "She probably model."

That was _too_ much of a coincidence. Maybe she'd be a designer on the 33S project? It wasn't important anyway. What mattered was sticking an s-mine down the throat of the contraption on the table and blowing it to smithereens.

One bomb, in my left hand, I stuck it as far inside as it'd go. A bit of extra containment for the initial blast would only magnify the destruction after all.

The fire alarm went off… again. It nearly sent me through the ceiling with fright. It took just a few moments to realise that maybe it was just the scientists trying to warn their colleagues or something… and not some auto-destruct sequence or booby trap that had been buried deep in the device.

"We're ten seconds behind _kiiroi,_ hurry up," begged the pink Saber, dancing impatiently at the door. Of course, she only covered my back when there were no serious enemies to guard against.

"Charge set," I said, stepping back to admire my handiwork for a moment, "Let's get moving."

Nené was out the door and running, before I even finished speaking. I followed, counting out the distance . Blowing myself up… again… wouldn't be too healthy. The pair of us turned a corner into another corridor, catching a glimpse of the scientists a few seconds ahead of us.

"_Fire Alarm sector __Zulu-Zulu-Niner Plural Zulu-Alpha. All personnel to remain in lockdown. Evacuation is unsafe. All research personnel to remain in lockdown for their own safety. Hostile forces are armed."_ The PA announced.

I blew it away by detonating the lab.

"You could've warned me!" barked the pink suit, pouting. "I nearly got thrown to my butt by the blast!"

I giggled… then winced as my shoulder stabbed itself again, sobering me up. I took one more glance at the map, red dots gathering at each entrance. The pair of us really were somewhere GENOM did not want us to be. They weren't just swatting at a mosquito that buzzed in their ear, they were in full blown extermination mode.

Pieces began to slide into place in my mind.

The lockdown wasn't because they were afraid _we'd_ shoot the scientists down here… GENOM knew the Sabers' _modus operandi _well enough to know we wouldn't… they were afraid they'd get in the way of whatever they were sending in after us. Anything that they were sending in would be in full-blown 'kill' mode.

They didn't want their valuable researchers going splat.

So why were they just massing at the exits then? Why were they letting us run about in here? Sure we were trapped like rats in a cage, and we'd be slaughtered as soon as we tried to leave, but we could also do quite a bit of damage while here.

So why hadn't they moved in and just squashed us? With that much firepower… so many angry red dots…. I doubt we'd have much time to do more than scream. They could kill us with all the ease of a man stepping on an ant, but they hadn't.

Unless they were afraid of collateral damage to the labs. They didn't want to start a war in here, in case some important project was destroyed. They'd rather have waited for us to try and leave.

And by blowing up that lab, I'd just removed that little brake.

"_Oh bloody hell they're going to storm the lab_!" I yelled, panic flaring hot, "_Bollox to the servers, we've got to get the fuck out of here now!"_

"What now?" questioned Nené, panting as she ran with me, "Speak slower."

She could speak English well enough, but my accent must've thrown her.

"GENOM coming now to kill," I tried to arrange it in her language "They waiting to attack."

Not right, but I was having trouble thinking straight.

"We go straight for the lift then?"

"Yeah."

It seemed to still be open, maybe they hadn't thought about it. I wasn't going to give them time to. We had a way out, we were going to take it. The last thing we wanted was to get there just in time to see it fill with little red dot; each red dot being 5 combat boomers ready for the kill… and not the old Mark 1 models either… I'm not going to give them time to do that.

I didn't want to die in here.

As if it heard me, a small software flag decided to highlight the fact that I'd lost too much blood for my body's self repair systems to work. It was the 33S equivalent of the oil-light on a car's dashboard… a little warning that I really should stop whatever it was that I was doing, and get some help right fucking now.

But help was half a kilometre above my head.

Common sense wins the day

Help was about to call.

"_Orenji, Aoi,__"_ Priss voice broke through my fears, "Whatever you two are doing down there, keep it, up, _kuroi_ just shat a brick and sent most of everything still alive up here down to meet you."

She sounded like she was having a good time. She cackled maniacally as something exploded.

"This is _Shiiroi_," Sylia joined her, "There is something important to the target down there. Find it."

That was the order. Bugger it.

"_Shiiroi, Orenji,_ They squash us any minute. I have bad damage. We need out of here soon."

"_Pinku_ here," Nené broke through, with saccharine cheerfulness, "I'll try cracking into the servers, they're probably isolated from the outside world so I'll have to do it locally."

She'd die to get into that system.

And I couldn't let Sylia know just how badly I was hurt without giving away my big secret, could I?

"_Shiiroi, Kiiroi,_ I am really beat up. Battery and heatsink damage... Em…" I winced as another blade cut through my shoulder, "I am messed up."

I tried to not scream in someone's ear. I did _not_ want to stay down here and die.

"I understand. Secure your escape route then find out what is so important to _Kuroi_. Stick to the timetable. If you have to, don't hesitate to run."

"Wilco," I responded, feeling deaths cold chills creeping up behind me.

But… as usual… Sylia was right. And it _was_ a fair compromise. I blow our way out while Nené is hacking away. If the enemy decided to invade, we have about 30 seconds to make our getaway, which should be just enough time provided I've made a decent hole into the shaft by then.

Nené gave me a thumbs up, "Right."

We smashed through into the cold storage room, not really taking much time to look around. There were rows of shelves, low-power lighting, and enough ceiling mounted fans to blow up a hurricane if needs be. Some things on the shelves that looked large enough to be steel coffins, mixed with trays of glass dishes, and a hundred and one different kinds of plastic box.

Each one security sealed.

Feeling clever, I set my hardsuits life support to open-loop mode, savouring the rush of cold air coming in through the vents. The temperature was -10 °C, compared to about 25 °C in the corridors outside. Ice had formed slabs on the shelves and walls.

"Go on ahead, Nené… I want to break ice," I waved.

The suit shook its head "Nuh, uh, I'll watch your back."

I grabbed chilling handfuls of frost and pressed them against the remaining heatsink. It hissed and crackled, popping as it flash boiled against the overheated metal. Suddenly cooled, the grills warped and buckled as they shrank, stretching and cracking over the still hot metal.

But it worked. Water after all, has an excellent heat capacity. It took 10 seconds to get the hardsuit temps back down to green levels.

I'd still pass out in about 8 minutes… if my body's own warnings were correct…. But at least my suit would last. I had a feeling its power assistance was the only reason I was still standing. I could still command my muscles to work. Even if my legs were holding a ballot on industrial action, the innerwear would pick those signals up, the hardsuits computers would process them and then the linear motors would do all the real work for me.

So long as I was conscious, I could run. I could try and fight.

"Ready?"

Nené was about as keen to stand around playing in the snow as I was.

"Yeah, let's go."

We didn't have time to spare, but those few seconds spent cooling off might well save both our lives.

-----

Security was still light. Any door we met was easy enough to just kick down. It seemed almost a token attempt, more to keep the researchers and engineers from snooping than to block an attacking force.

That was what the 2 foot thick armoured door was for. And we got through that. Of course, now we had the slight problem of getting out of here before GENOM decided to squish us.

I don't want to die in here.

Just a dark wall of armour... we'd try and run, but eventually we'd be closed down to a corner somewhere….. and then. GENOM might have a few shiny pieces of armour to inspect, after they washed the mincemeat off.

7:00 left before I passed out, and my hardsuit temperatures were already climbing into the yellow. My body was screaming at me to stop, to just lie down and rest… just lay down, close my eyes and wait for help.

I could feel a dampness seeping along my damaged arm… cold, moist, like water. Innerwear was turning into a wet sock, squelching as I made a fist inside the battleglove. Remembering I'd cut the power to it, I rearmed the laser. That would've been embarrassing.

But not for too long.

"Left here," Nené guided the way.

I smashed the next firedoor. Clearance numbers were getting higher, but the doors weren't getting stronger. I checked the map. We'd get to the servers first, the lift shaft would be a short distance. Nearest assault team was about 30 to 45 seconds away from the shaft, assuming they could move as fast as us. More than enough time for Nené to drop what she was doing and run.

Assume makes an ass out of you, and out of me.

Of course, if they go now…

Focus on your job!

I forced my mind to focus on the matter at hand. Ignore the pains, ignore the alarms in head, ignore the warnings from my hardsuit… just keep going or I will die.

Just follow the yellow brick road… Path through the Tower highlighted yellow… Follow the yellow pixel road… Haha.!

Stupid!.... I shook it off. Just the cherry on top of a really sweet sundae of problems. Low blood pressure, low blood sugars… Low bloody everything. 7:20 until I fainted. Something inside must be getting better, the number went up.

In fairness, this wasn't exactly how I'd expected my first Knight Saber mission to go.

Break into Mason's office, kick up a little bit of a fuss to take the heat off, and then meet with the others on the summit for the grand finale… It sounded so easy back at base. Definitely easier than 15 minutes on the summit fighting wave after wave of battleboomers coming on like mechanical Red Army soldiers.

If this had been a video game, I'd've given up and restarted the level a long time ago.

"Should be on right," I read from the map. "4 more doors."

"I''ll take it." said the Saber.

"I'll make escape."

A suspiciously bare patch of wall seemed to mark the lift shaft. There was no space behind the wall for a lab or office. Just a few inches of concrete, and we had our escape route. Climb a few levels, break out, then call the lift and ride it all the way to the top.

Sheetrock and concrete was all that separated us from a route to safety. Shouldn't be hard to blow through.

"Gimme a mine too. If I can't get any dent in their security, at least I can make a dent in their backups."

She didn't sound to enthused about blowing it up.

"Yeah," I snapped a mine off the rack and handed it to her leaving me with 2, "Only I can arm and detonate remote."

If hardsuits could've show expressions, Nené's would've been pouting. Blowing stuff up was kind of fun.

Nené paused outside the doorway… no different from any other. A firedoor with a silver card reader, it wasn't labelled, except for a 3 digit number. An easy kick. Raising her own pulse laser, Nené went in for the kick.

"Don't move!" I heard her yell as she crashed through.

She was definitely a cop, I could tell. Only cops could yell like that. Holding my arm against my chest, I walked to the end of the corridor, leaving her to business. Screams of terror spilled from the open doorway.

It would've been hilarious if I hadn't've been in so much pain.

Just focus on your job Meg, I told myself. Focus on getting out of here.

I clicked a single mine off its rack. One left after this one, I noted. That was good. If this one failed at least I had a spare to finish the job. Tapping at the wall with my gloved hand, I listened for any indications it was hollow, or maybe just sheetrock I could punch through.

Seemed solid enough. Just a white-painted concrete wall.

Glancing up at my own HUD, at the red dots waiting to murder me, I willed them to wait. Just _one_ more minute. I slapped the mine into place, and ran back to the server room, just in time to catch some panicking techs running in the other direction, right towards the bomb.

They stopped dead, frozen in fear.

Just a pair of whiteshirts.

"Run Yameda!" one of them screamed, "Just fucking run before it shoots."

Yameda stood there, whimpering, mouth gaping like a fish. He was staring death in the face, and he knew it. Death may have been blackened, battered, bent and otherwise beaten half to death by battleboomers… but that just added to the menace.

His friend bolted, screaming as he ran. I raised my arm, knuckleguard slamming into place. The bombers were gone, only black pits remaining. In Yameda's mind though, I'm sure he thought he was face to face with some sort of hand-cannon.

Shaking, he raised his hands.

He was taking up my bloody time. I couldn't just brush past him and let him keep going, he was running towards a bomb. But he didn't know that. He didn't know I wasn't going to hurt him. He wouldn't believe me if I told him. That's what the terrorists did in all the movies, right before they shot Mister relieved redshirt in the back, after all.

I had the play the part of the evil terrorist he _knew_ I was…

"Run!" I commanded.

It didn't sound intimidating, or sinister like Darth Vader with breasts, it sounded like I felt… like someone was jamming hot spears into my body.

It still snapped Yameda back to life. The tech nodded quickly, almost stupidly, before tripping on his own feet as he turned away from me. I caught him with my good hand, keeping him from falling and pulling a terrified cry out of his throat.

A gentle push set him off in the right direction, running hell for leather

In his mind, he'd believe he'd escaped by the skin of his teeth, through the fickle mercies of an armoured terrorist... he'd never realise that I had in fact, just saved his life.

He could've at least said Thank You.

Deciding to join Nené before I blew the wall, I stepped over the remains of the server room door, and up onto the raised floor inside. My feet had a heavy, Robocop stomp on the tiles thanks to the steel stiletto boots.

Another shudder of pain ran up my spine, more warnings in my mind telling just how badly screwed I was.

I'd gotten to the point where even a human would begin to feel the effects of the bleeding. I had a full list of just how messed up my body was. A human, who had my injuries, would be dealing with much the same pain, but would be able to take a bit more punishment before going being physically incapacitated.

Then take several weeks or months in hospital recovering from it, and be left with some nasty scars for their troubles.

I'd go down quickly, then get up just a quickly given a few days in the care of a competent mechanic, with no sign whatsoever of ever having been hurt in the first place… provided I lived long enough to make it.

The server room was surprisingly dull. In a world of supertech I'd expected something a little more than just a few man-high rows of racked machines, controlled by a single desk mounted console. Nene stood, typing, blazing her way through firewalls, mining under ringfences, and doing her damnedest not to get fried by the system's own defence programs.

"Any luck?"

"Nothing," she snapped back, "No outside connections whatsoever… except for a hotsite somewhere else on the same network, everything on this floor's a complete island. There's so much stuff in here and I can't get it out." Frustration was running high. "I can't even get it to write out anything more than a file-listing to my hardsuit's drive."

"Shit."

I thought about helping, but my technical knowledge was about 20 years out of date.

"I can access the maintenance controls, but I can't get the physical data, not in under a minute anyway."

"Physical data is sitting in the server rack."

It seemed obvious to me what to do.

"Yes, but I can't write it out."

Like any techie, explaining what should be obvious to a mundane intruding into their thought processes.

"No," I started to advance down the aisles. "But can you tell me which server it's on?"

Silence.

"It's a redundant array of independent virtual machines, crosslinked and striped so that no one server holds enough data to be made sensible. Taking the drive won't work," A breath, armoured hand brushing through non-existant armoured hair, before her mouth took off at a mile a minute. "If I had more time I could do it though. They're running a job to freeze all the machines in state and it's nearly done. When it's finished I might be able to isolate one of them and manually command the hypervisor to back it up to a spare partition on my onboard disk, I just need more time to…"

The lights dropped.

Only a thousand winking LED's attached to a thousand Ethernet ports remained.

Pitch blackness descended, the world turning green as my hardsuit's night vision kicked in.

Time was up.

"It finished," whispered Nené, a terrified, chilling shiver to her breath.

As one, the LED's died, servers powering down. Silence closed in. _That's_ what they were waiting for. I didn't even wait to confirm the idea… I blew the wall. The flash overwhelmed the NV for an instant, triggering filter programs before dimming. The blast rolled down the corridor after it, spilling into the room, knocking a few polystyrene tiles loose from the ceiling.

Distantly, my bomb was answered with 5 more; 5 almost simultaneous _krumps_ which shook the floors, and turned my stomach.

They were coming. Oh God help me they were coming.

"I'm getting out of here."

I was beyond panic. That was it. Red dots of danger were pouring towards us, sweeping through corridors. 30 seconds to get to safety.

I didn't even spare a thought for Nené, the pink Saber jumping up while still having her cables attached to the terminal. It followed her for a few seconds, before the cables pulled taut and snapped free, dropping it from mid air.

"No argument from me," she said, aiming for the door.

I pulled ahead of her, running as hard as my crippled hardsuit could carry me.

"Hurry Meg!" pleaded Nené, "We have to get to the shaft or we're done for."

"I know!"

And here's hoping that I actually managed to blow a bloody hole in it.

"I don't want to die in here," I whispered to myself, "I don't want to die in here"

I wanted to see Priss, and Sylia and Linna again. I wanted to tell them what I done and what had happened down here. I wanted to go back to the panty drawer where we could all get patched up, get some nice hot chocolate and biscuits, and sit down in our nightwear while Sylia debriefed, and congratulated us all for doing a good job.

Dust hung in the air, a green fog spoiling the night vision. In the middle of the wall, was a black void, big enough to step through. There was no pain, there was no hardsuit, there was no Mason, there was nothing in the world but that single black void.

A draft was sucking the smoke and dust up into it.

"It's through!" I whooped.

Smoke filtered in through the 'suit 's open vents, mixed with dry concrete dust and cool, stale air, twinged with a hint of old oils. Closing on us was the unmistakeable stamp of hundreds of heavy boomers. It was a sound like a train thundering along a rough track, a deep rolling drumbeat, redolent with unstoppable momentum.

They wouldn't even have to shoot, they could just trample us underfoot.

They were twenty seconds away, and the pair of us were standing at the hole I'd made, trying not to trip on concrete rubble. It was a _long_ way down to the bottom of the shift. Fighting a wave of dizziness for a brief moment, I turned to Nené beside me, then peered into the gloom.

I could see the elevator cables rushing passed, green lines picked out in the black.

Going up.

"We jump?"

Nené asked, but she wasn't looking forward to it any more than I was. Grabbing onto a steel cable whipping past at over 40kph, 3 meters out from the nearest ledge, and over a hundred meters up from the bottom of a shaft would've been difficult if I hadn't been hurt.

If I didn't try it, I was dead.  
If I tried it and failed, I was dead... I just had time to say goodbye before I went splat.

If I tried it and made it, I'd be lucky if it didn't tear my arm off my shoulders.

I glanced up at the map on my HUD.

Maybe ten seconds before the choice would be made for us.

We had to try.

"On three," I said.

"Yeah. One," Nené started.

The boots were getting closer

"Two."

A deep breath. Don't close your eyes.

"Three!"

We both shouted, we both jumped. Together we hung in mid air. I jumped up, Nené jumped out, both of us aiming for the same bundle of cabling. Arms wide, ignoring the pains, I let myself smack chest first into the cables before snapping my arms shut. I screamed in pain, clenching tightly with arms and feet as the steel skidded through my armoured grip, hot sparks spalling off of my armour. A rush of acceleration drove my stomach down to my toes as I wrapped my legs tightly round, praying I wouldn't fall

I felt the jolt as Nené made the cable below.

"_Pinku_, you alright?" I called down to her. She couldn't have fallen, there was no screaming.

"Yeah," she answered, "I'm here."

Another close call. It was blind luck that the lift was on its way _anywhere_, let alone going up. And it was blind luck that both of us managed to grab the cable safely.

I wanted to hug the cables and cry. Every second I hung on was another 11 meters between myself and those battleboomers. Cold air roared passed, cooling my hardsuit's systems, and cooling my body.

"There's also an elevator car about thirty meters below, I think we can make it safely"

And also lucky that neither of us smashed into the car.

I was in no condition to climb down. Doing some mental maths told me that letting go off the cable and falling into the car would also be a bad idea. A 30 meter fall was well inside the design specs of the hardsuit... even damaged I knew it could take it... but I'd smash into the lift and go right through the other side.

I had one working thruster... not enough to carry my weight for any length of time, but it'd certainly break the fall. If it could give its full thrust, the maths said it'd be enough.

"I'm going to jump, watch out," I warned the Saber below me.

"Hey wait," gasped Nené

I didn't. I didn't even give myself the chance to talk myself out of it. I pushed myself off the cables and placed myself in the bosom of simple physics.

I'd been travelling at the same speed as the lift, about 11 meters a second. The moment I let go, gravity took over, costing me roughly 9.8m/s of upward velocity, for each second I was in mid-air.

After about a second, I'd effectively stopped in mid air. My upward velocity was Zero. The lift meanwhile was still coming at me at 11 meters a second, or 40kph. It was also about 25 meters below me still, which gave about 1.1 seconds to impact if I didn't break my fall.

Nené rushed past, climbing down the safe way.

That would mean a hit at roughly 80kph. Not lethal for me, but definitely not nice for the lift.

I fired the one remaining thruster, feeling it kick me in the back as it triggered, boosting me into the air once more. My whole body yawed to one side as I struggled to balance myself. It was like being lifted by one shoulder, my whole body was trying to corkscrew around itself.

The lift top rushed up to meet me, still travelling at considerable relative speed. With a split second's judgement, I pitched my body forward, trying to take the landing on my good side, if only to spare myself the agony of slamming my wounded arm into the roof.

I hit the roof with a cymbal's crash, ringing through the hardsuit's structures, little tremors of pain sparking in my shoulder and arm as I toppled onto my side, rolling with the hit. Thankfully, the suit itself absorbed the brunt of it.

Not hard.

The steel roof began to groan.

I felt myself start moving, before I had time to figure out why.

The ceiling collapsed under me with sudden, hollow bang, followed by a yelp of terror rising from inside. I plunged through, smacking awkwardly onto the carpet, crying out as pains burned in my arm and across my chest. I could feel cracked bones and loose metal grinding off each other inside me, scraping away at my life.

Panting in pain, I slumped against what I felt was the back wall of the car, trying to regain some sort of control.

"Don't hurt me!" A voice squealed. I looked up to see a balding, short man, nearing middle age and getting round around the waist, staring back at me through small beady brown eyes, framed by thick-rimmed glasses.

"I'm..." he hiccupped, "I'm just..." hiccup, "I'm just an analyst, nothing more."

"Stop," I forced out, trying to pull myself to my feet with my good hand. The hardsuit did the work for me.

"I'm not like you people. I've a job and a family and I just wanted to make some money so my kids could go to school."

He was crying. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. Fuck this bloody terrorist facade.

"We're not here to hurt _you_," I choked out, biting back on pains.

"Bullshit!" he spat, "You murder innocent GENOM employees, they tell us all about you. You steal our corporate secrets, then sell them to other companies because of some vendetta... they tell..." hiccup again "… us about you. Please..."

I was never going to hurt him.

Nené dropped in beside me, landing with a little more grace.

"Shit," coughed the analyst. "Oh shit."

First you say it, then you do it. It was a good thing Mr. Analyst's trousers were brown.

"Get in the corner and you won't be harmed," I found my terrorist voice. "Hands on back of head, legs crossed, no crazy stuff."

He fell onto his backside, legs buckling underneath him, before sliding himself back into the corner. Legs crossed, hands behind his head, all the while sniffling and sobbing quietly.

"I was just going home to my family," he pleaded, "We live in the Tower, I didn't want to be involved in this."

It was hard not to feel a little guilty, or insulted for that matter. We really meant him no harm.

"We're on out way up top!" cheered Nené, punching the air.

I exhaled a long sigh, "Yes, we are."

We'd made it out.

"_Shiroi, Orenji," _I called Sylia on the radio, "Inbound on your position. ETA," I checked what floor we were on, against our destination, "About 3 minutes 30 seconds."

"Acknowledged, _Orenji_, good work."

I wanted to hug her, and make her feel good in ways only a sexaroid could ever manage. I could tell how tired she was.

I _knew_ how tired I was. Physically, mentally...

I took a few seconds to rewire the lift's control panel... just to hardwire our destination in permanently so nobody could stop us, short of manually running up to the lift's machinery and cutting the power cables anyway.

The analyst had stopped crying... but he was still white with terror, still shaking in his polished office shoes.

I sat down in the corner opposite him, and tried to calm down, to give my body the few moments' rest it had been screaming for. I was in bad shape, but at least I wasn't getting any worse now. Given a few minutes respite, my body could begin to get a grip on itself.

I was going to be okay. I was going to get help. I was going to get off the Tower.

My whole body was still shivering; every muscle quivering like it was made out of jelly. My skin began to prickle and itch, almost like little mosquitos were biting me all over.

I'd come so close to not making it at all.

Nené leaned back against the far wall, brushed steel creaking under her weight.

Her left hand was shaking too.

2 minutes, 30 seconds until summit.

We were going to make it.

-----

I sat there with my eyes closed, still as a statue save for a slight tremor that refused to go away. Memories danced in my mind, playing back like a videotape.

All that separated me from being dead was a single heartbeat in time. First, against the boomer outside Mason's Office, then fighting all five at the door, and finally the escape to the lift. 3 times dead, I could've been.

I didn't feel far off it either.

Truth be told, I wasn't far off it. Resting quietly certainly helped, it gave me a chance to at least make sure I wasn't going to get any worse. And damage control was enough to keep my mind off the image of a blazing pink laser burning up from inside a boomers gaping jaws, ready to turn all my hopes and dreams into a pink mist.

"I don't want to die," whispered the analyst beside me.

Him and me both.

The only difference was, I chose to be there. I chose to fight. He didn't choose, he was just going home when we dropped in to ruin his day. He could've been me in another life. I was a Knight Saber… near death experiences and getting the shit kicked out of you were all part of the job. I think I was starting to get used to it, too…

A minute to the summit, or thereabouts.

1:11:37 am.

Just over ten minutes since we blew through the main gates at full speed. Despite my onboard clock, it'd felt like hours. With a bit of luck, we'd be on our way home by quarter past. Checking myself, I guessed I could fight or run for about 4 minutes, before it finally became too much.

I didn't want to stand up again.

While I wouldn't get any better without help, at least resting gave me a chance to make sure I wouldn't get any worse. I'd murder a bottle of coke, or _anything_ with sugar in it. Just a kick to keep me going.

"This will put us on the observation deck," said Nené, "About three floors below the roof. The emergency stairwell should give us access."

"We being followed?"

Her antennae flickered, tasting the air,

"A few Bu-12B's, but they're 40 stories behind and falling back. They should run out of thruster fuel soon." another pause, "I won't know what's on the roof until we're a little closer."

Her armour was almost pristine, safe for a slight coating of white powder. It didn't seem fair, did it? But then, that was my job. She had work to do, and I had to make sure she lived long enough to do it. I'd always hated those sort of missions in computer games...

But they always gave the most satisfaction when I'd duct taped my controller back together after flinging it against the wall in frustration and actually got around to finishing the thing.

We were both still alive because _I_ was able to fight. I felt like death warmed up, but I felt oddly good about that. My mission objectives were complete for the night. I'd done my job, and lived through it. Maybe that was tempting fate, but I couldn't help but feel that the hardest part was over... all that was left was the reward at the top. Brian J. Mason was going to die. I wanted to see Sylia get her revenge.

Mr. Analyst whimpered as we passed his floor... still lit up on the control panel.

I sighed again.

45 seconds to go, according to my own calculations. I knew it was right.

My arm was still a mess, but the bleeding had stopped for good. Arteries and veins had been closed off, my own systems taking care of housekeeping, making damn sure that the house they were keeping wasn't going to tip over.

Electrolyte levels had recovered a bit, but. were still dangerously low. I could live with that.

Flexing my injured arm, I reached up, grunting as pains bit deep... as I expected. Deep breath, cooling the heat. A few more tears, but nothing I couldn't deal with. It didn't start bleeding again, that was the main thing.

"I wish I had some duct tape," I lamented to Nené, "Duct tape fix all machines."

The woman giggled into her steel hands in a most un-terrorist fashion.

"You..." coughed the analyst, "You're... boomers?"

Yes, I am, actually.

"We make things go boom," deadpanned Nené.

Analyst whimpered again, turning a naseous green, "I'm going to die."

"Labs, offices, battleboomers, High level executives... not analysts," I added. A little unfriendly reassurance to keep him from actually throwing up. He looked at me with wide, glistening eyes, like a young lamb looking up at the butcher holding the bolt-pistol.

"I'm not even a good hostage... they won't negotiate. Please just let me go. They'll kill me."

It wasn't just us he was afraid of. He was right too, his bosses were far more likely to kill him while trying to kill us than we ever were.

"I mean, all I wanted to do was get a job. I don't _want_ to be caught up in this. I don't want to be anything like this. I was living a nice safe life, school, university, college and career and then you two drop into my life and _ruin_ it!" His voice rang off the walls, rising above the roar of the wind rushing in from the shaft. "I mean..." hiccup. Something snapped. He jumped to his feet, shocking Nené, "I'm going to be interrogated by CorpSec, demoted, or maybe even fired because of you two and your damn anti-GENOM games. Will you know what," he took a deep breath, glancing at the panel behind Nené."

I saw what he was planning and sprang to my feet faster than I thought I'd be able to. We had to control him, stop him from hurting himself, or from forcing us to hurt him. I could see the man panting, trying to force the words out. I could smell his fear, drifting in through my suits vents, mingling with my own sweat.

"I. Say." another breath. He stared right into my face, "Fuck You!"

Every amount of frustration, of fury, of terror, every little pain in his life was behind those words. He let go of it all. He'd decided. He'd escape, or die trying. Expecting him to come at me, I braced to catch him.

Glancing up at the floor indicator.

15 seconds to the summit according to my own count. We were dead on schedule.

Couldn't he have bloody waited!

He ducked low, making to tackle me in the gut, then tucked over on one leg, using his body weight to pull himself over at Nené.

"No!" she yelped, catching him on the shoulders.

He must've been 120 kilos or more, age having not just broadened the mind... a near match on the weighing scales for the pink Saber in her armour. Throwing his full mass behind himself, he pushed her back into the wall, buckling the metal with a hollow thunk.

The lift rocked on its runners

"_Son of a bitch!"_

"Get off," Nené pushed.

The man stumbled back, surprised at the sheer power a hardsuit could have, crashing into the wall beside me. Gathering himself on pure adrenaline, he made to charge at her again.

I didn't even think before I grabbed him with both hands, pinning him to the wall by his upper arms, holding him almost in a crucifix. The pain in my own arm had me shaking, panting to keep from screaming in his face.

His eyes were wide and bloodshot. He tried to struggle, but there was no beating my iron grip. He started to cry, tears welling up in his eyes, running down red checks. He tried to speak, but his mouth just hung open, lips quivering. I could see it... he knew he was going to die now for trying to escape.

We really weren't that different at all.

"Stop."

One word, one simple command from me.

5 seconds more, and I'd let him go. We'd be out the door and he could go home. Sure he'd have more than his fair share of nightmares, but he was still alive. I felt him relax under my grip. Good. Another little relief.

A quick check of myself came up okay. Hadn't done myself any more harm dealing with him. No sweat, everyone's cool. It was then that I realised I'd been pointing a live weapon right at his face, which had enough power to burst his skull like a meat filled balloon.

One wrong move, and I'd've Marvin'd him.

The lift jolted to a stop, three happy chimes announcing its arrival. The doors rumbled open behind me, and I stepped back, letting the analyst slowly slide down the wall into blissful unconsciousness. He slumped to the ground like a corpse.

"Hurry, _Kiiroi_!"

"Just making sure our friend doesn't break his neck," I called back.

I ripped our modifications out of the lift's panel, before calmly selecting his home floor... at least the floor he'd been going to at any rate. It seemed only fair. Then let the doors rumble shut again behind me, took one more breath of air, and took off running after the pink Saber.

The observation deck we were on was three floors below the summit, and formed a long ring around the circumference of the Tower. One of MegaTokyo's most popular tourist attractions, you could take an hour walking around it looking out over the city outside. Inside, there was a shopping arcade, a place to buy an example of almost everything GENOM purchased, from simple souvenir keychain-boomers and Quincy plushies, to household appliances, cutlery and computers, to order points for cars, real boomers and heavy industrial equipment. Even GENOM shares were sold singularly as the ultimate corporate souvenir, framed on a certificate with the Chairman's laser-printed signature and the bearer's own name.

"_Own your own little piece of GENOM,_" read the sign above the stall.

The lights were all on, but nobody was working. It closed at 10pm every night.

"_Shiiroi, Orenji. _Three floors below you,"I radioed.

There was always the fear that the message wouldn't be answered.

"_Orenji._ Take route B. Come up behind target. "

Already, the pair of us were running. 200 meters around, then up another 20. My onboard death clock starting ticking once more, counting down from 4:10.

"_Kuroi _still alive?"

Sylia gasped, grunting over the radio. Hit?

"Unfortunately," was the answer. "Split and cover _Midori _and _Aoi_ when you reach the surface. We can isolate him and finish" another grunt. She paused, panting, struggling to catch her breath. "... this."

She was giving orders while fighting hand to hand?

"Wilco," the pair of us answered.

Cover Linna and Priss? How bad were things up there? Nené's scanners began to flicker once more.

"There's about 20 left alive up there. I got all five of us, but only three motoslaves."

I found myself hoping mine was alright, as if it was a friend in real danger and not a simple machine. It had saved my life. At least the others were alive. That was a big miracle. Nearly 15 minutes hand to hand with serious firepower. I had the easy job, I think.

The pair of us ran as hard as we could, past coffee stands and donut shops. I hungered for something with sugar in it. It was nearly over.

-----

It took a little longer than expected to find the right stairwell... the emergency sign had been accidentally hidden by a piece of bunting announcing a sale at an Animé and Manga stall beside it.

The door itself pushed open easily enough… being an emergency escape it wasn't designed to be lockable. The stairs were wide enough to handle a good deal more than two hardsuit wearing women. The hardsuit was doing to work for my body, but even it was starting to hurt. It was beginning to overheat again.

1-2 gun was holding at 40% charge. 2 remaining cells in the battery healthy. 1 s-mine left. 90 degrees C in the heatsink. Wearer would pass out in just over three minutes. I hoped that counter had been coded by the same person who'd done the timers for my laptop's battery. They were always about 10 or 15 minutes too pessimistic.

Explosions rumbled like distant thunder over head, rolling over head and rattling through the painted railings. Here we go again. Adrenaline was already starting to flood my systems, building me up for another hard fight. It was like stepping on the throttle of a car already running out of petrol.

The door to the roof was marked "Emergency Access only. Improper use will be dealt with in civil court." There was a large, boomer shaped dent that had flaked the paint around 'dealt with'. Another blast rattled it on its hinges. How funny would it be to open the door, to be face to face with a shaped charge that had missed its original target?

Not very.

We took up positions at both sides of the door.

"All clear," said the Saber opposite me, "I'll take lead, you're hurt."

"Got your back," I reassured her, painfully raising my gun arm.

"_Shiiroi, Orenji_" Nené broadcast, "Ready when you are."

"_Orenji, _go on _Aoi's _signal."

That was Priss.

"_Orenji, Aoi._" Her voice entered my helmet, "I got three big ones chasing me. Going to lead 'em across you two and we can get 'em in a crossfire."

"Right!" the pair of us chorused.

She was hurting, badly. I could hear it in her voice.

Big one. That meant a battleboomer, probably a model 12. First blind their sensors with a precision hit to the head, get out of the way of the followup shot, finish off the second fixed sensor cluster, then get behind it to exploit its weaker back armour, and pump it full of laser fire. Then repeat.

I could beat holographic ones in a training simulator. Only difference between them and the real steel was that in a simulator, if I screwed up, I could take a second chance.

Through the wall, I could hear the deep pom-pom of the 12B's' bazookas, blasts chasing across the roof, getting closer. They sounded just like that night at Lady 633. I shook that out of my mind, focusing on the now. My heart was punching against the inside of my chest, making its bid for freedom through my ribcage.

Just waiting for Priss.

How long will this take? Will we get any signal if she's killed outright?

2 seconds, according to my internal clock. 2 long seconds. It'd kill to be human and not have an onboard clock to time this out.

"GO NOW!"

Nené's boot was through the door before the words had even finished leaving Priss' throat. I followed her, inches behind, out into the cold night air. Nené peeled left, I peeled right, scanning the area in front of me.

Priss was picked out immediately. Signalled as friendly, moving to the right fast, outrunning small tufts of exploding concrete. 2 More signals came up, 2 Bu-12B's, chasing after her, ripping up the concrete slab.

I target-locked one, immediately revealing my presence, Nené took another. Already, both were turning to face us, thrusters flaring as they tried to swing their bulk around. Still, we had them by surprise. I fired. One shot, right through the head, sensors blasting apart in a shower of sparks and glass. Nené took four shots, digging 3 craters across its armour before her final shot punched out its sensors.

Grunting, fighting back agonies, I sprang up, jumping over a shell that passed right through the spot I'd been standing in. Nené bounded left, rolling clean out of the way. The wall behind us exploded in a ball of flame and concrete, concussion slapping me in the back, throwing me off balance.

I held my aim, targeting systems correcting. One more lens. One more shot. Miss! Fire again. Good hit! The whole sensor module dropped clean off, trailing a spaghetti of cables. Priss was going to work on a third, beam cannon already punching holes in the armour...

Blinded, my target decided to just let rip, opening up full-auto with its gatling cannon, aiming for the last space of sky it had seen me in. Tracers burned in an arc, fizzing passed as I dropped. Motion predictions lagged a half second behind where I actually was.

I jinked to the side, running both to close the distance, and get a better shot at its weaker armour. It'd expected me to charge right at it, digging a trench with its gatling cannon, bullets and concrete fragments spalling off. Something rattled off my helmet, I didn't know what. Nothing serious at any rate.

I could smell the gunsmoke through the open vents.

Nené was running hard, mirroring me with her target. An explosion right in front of me signalled Priss' victory over hers, burning shrapnel scything through the air and drenching his friends in burning thruster fuel.

Already blinded, the two damaged boomers turned towards the source of the explosion, assuming it to be a threat. We didn't give them a chance to realise their mistake.

1… 2… 3 blasts from the 1-2 gun, and the boomer toppled, smoking holes blown in its armour. I liked my gun, it was good at getting through armour, even if it couldn't do too much damage on the inside. Fully charged, I wouldn't have even needed to shoot it in the back.

Nené poured laser fire on her target, carefully aiming for the damaged areas she'd already hit. Her target toppled and started burning, flames licking up from its back.

"I got one!" Nené cheered, silhouetting herself against high intensity construction lights.

"About time," snorted Priss.

The pink hardsuit dropped into a pout. "Some of us have more important things to do."

I would've laughed at that if I hadn't been hurting so bad.

Priss huffed at her disbelievingly. "_Kiiroi,_ how bad you hurt?"

"Bad," And thinking about it only made it worse. "My arm broke."

I was sure how to describe it quickly.

"Mine too. They're boomers, not playmates, you're supposed to take a few knocks."

I think Priss' and my definition of a few knocks were a little different. Her hardsuit was badly scorched, one of the two antennae trailing back from her helmet torn off. Some of the armour on her hip had been ripped open, exposing the motor trusses underneath. The left forearm was buckled and bent, far enough to have obviously broken the arm inside. She was panting, chest heaving… I could see this even through her armour.

Scanning round, it was clear that there had already been one hell of a fight up here. There were more wrecked boomers than I could count at a glance, a mix of heavy battle types, combat types and a few security models. Some where burning. So was one of the cranes, dumping burning diesel fuel over the smashed wreckage of one of the motorslaves.

Nené's, it seemed.

Gunfire chased a darting green shape, Linna dancing around scaffolding, using it to slow her pursuers down. 3 black battleboomers just blasted through, one of them trailing smoke from a damaged thruster. Critically weakened, the scaffold collapsed, dropping several tonnes of steel, wood and concrete down onto one of the machines.

Its thrusters coughed and died, turbines chocking on the dust, dropping it to its feet.

It was all the distraction Linna needed. Vaulting into the air, her single remaining ribbon cut the head of it in two. A flash of gas from her thrusters spun her in mid air, bringing her own gun to bear. Bullets rattled off its back, puncturing fuel lines, spraying flaming jet fuel over itself.

One of its friends lashed out, filling the space Linna had once taken up with lead. Linna was already 10 meters away, leading the two remaining into another trap. She led them on in a dance of death.

Priss' motorslave blasted something clear out of the sky. Only a flaming orange cloud and a shower of shattered metal marked its passing.

An armoured figure in black stood apart, chasing another in white. The pair couldn't have been more different. The man in black was bulky and moved almost mechanically, contrasting with the sleek white feminine figure darting out of the way of his fire.

Sylia was keeping a step ahead of him… barely

"Give in Mason, you've already lost here."

Sylia broadcast it on all channels. Her voice was cold, like a judge pronouncing sentence. Another boomer went boom, marking its passing with a burst of flame. Linna'd gotten another with the help of Sylia's 'slave and mine, both sporting battle scars but still mobile.

"I still have the numerical advantage," came the answer, oily and slick, still confident, "It doesn't matter what you have done downstairs, none of you will make it out of here. There may be five of you, but the five of you are hurt. I still have fresh battlegroups waiting." Spoken as if he knew he was going to win. "Send in Battlegroup Gamma." And he wanted all of us to hear his final order.

"_Kiiroi, Pinku,_ let's finish this quick," Priss took the lead.

2:30 quick enough?

"I have spoilsport mine left, we lead something into it?"

There was also another one far below, forgotten in the server room in the mad dash to escape.

"Good idea," the blue Saber gave me a thumbs up. "There's only five left,"

The plan was clear and unspoken. I'd plant the mine. Priss would lead them on, and Nené and I would cover her and make sure she didn't get shot by taking fire on ourselves. One of the motorslaves made it 8 on 5. 5 Knight Sabers, 3 Motorslaves, against 4 battle boomers, and one hardsuited executive.

"… don't tell me 'No reinforcements'. Who gave that order?" Panic strained Mason's voice. Only now, maybe, was he realising how truly screwed he was. His office ransacked, his reputation ruined, and now the corporation was hanging him out to die, "The Chairman... Fuck Him!"

Quincy had just killed Brian J. Mason.

"The look of the true victor indeed," taunted Sylia, "Now we see what you are, just a snivelling coward hiding behind your steel. All your lies, all your murders, all the intrigue has all just come crashing down around you." There was murder in her tone, vengeful bloodlust barely contained. "Can you at least die with honour? I'll make it quick."

Priss shot one of the last Bu-12's, denting its armour. It gave chase, following programmed directives. Linna made it 7 on 4, mission killing the last one chasing her by by slicing both its arms clean off, then smashing its sensor.

It writhed around, geysering orange fluids as it fell on its back, struggling like a turtle to right itself.

2 minutes. Deep breaths. Ignore the pain. It's almost over. I've almost made it.

I slapped the last mine onto a wrecked 55-C, Priss had gotten the attention of the last three, all 3 black forms chasing her. They didn't know it was game over. They would fight just as hard now as they had fought all night. And all it would take would be one lucky bazooka shot to take one of us down, still. We weren't safe, not by a long shot. With your eyes only on the finish line, it's the little rock you don't see that will trip you up.

The ground at Priss' feet erupted, launching her high in the air. Nené fired her laser, scorching armour and shattering the optics on one. It turned to face her and she dodged, yelping as bullets ripped through the air. A chunk of her shoulder armour flew off, the girl dropping with a sharp scream, her other hand covering the wound.

I targeted the one menacing her, and put another shot through its chest. It lumbered around, turning to face me, ignoring the wounded Nené. Was she alright? Don't think about it. Just focus on finishing this.

1:45 left.

I took off running back to cover, directly away from it, away from the bomb pushing my body and my hardsuit hard. Nené's laser fired again, flickering through the smoke and flame. She was okay.

"_Kiiroi, _to me," signalled Priss.

"Right," I grunted, gritting my teeth against pains tearing my frame apart. "_Pinku, _get cover!"

I didn't want her to blow up too.

"I'm fine," she responded,

Bullets tore through the concrete around me. Keep moving. Not in a straight line. Make them work hard to hit me.

"I'm safe, detonate now!"

Don't argue, do. It was only a matter of time before one of them got a bead on one of us. I stopped and spun round to face, making damn sure Priss was clear. No friendly fire. Be sure of your shots. One of the 12B's was facing me, standing a few meters ahead of the mine, the other chasing after Priss still, thrusters blazing. The final one was some distance back.

I hit the switch. The flash of the blast silhouetted the closest boomer, engulfing it and pushing it forward. Its cannon fired simultaneously, the round digging into the ground a safe distance away. Crippled by the blast, but not quite finished, it tried to raise its guns.

3, 4, 5 shots from Nené dropped it.

Priss charged down the second, closing the distance quickly. Flames were licking at its armour where fuel lines had burst, but it was still mobile, still deadly. It fired one shot off... easily dodged. Priss rammed her beam cannon into its chest, force of the impact denting the armour and pushing the half-tonne machine off its feet. A point blank shot from her cannon bust through its back, blue light spearing through smoke and flame before fading into the night.

Priss vaulted back before it blew, landing a safe distance.

Just one left, hiding in the smoke.

I fired. Nené fired. Priss fired. Linna fired from behind. One of the 'slaves joined in. Sheer weight of firepower engulfed the final war machine in incandescent flame, fuel, ammunition and onboard batteries all igniting at once. It didn't so much explode as completely vapourise. The only recogniseable piece were two armoured feet, standing amid the molten slag and burning fuel.

It was now Mason and Sylia.

We win.

I win.

"Miss Stingray," the black armour turned to face down Sylia, "Priscilla Sonoda Asagiri." The blue hardsuit started. "Linna Yamazaki." The dancer winced in turn, looking to Sylia for an explanation. "Dispatcher Nené Romanova, a descendant of the Russian Imperial family I believe," The pink hardsuit whimpered, slowly pulling itself back to its feet. "And you, Miss Yellow, I'll bet that you're the redhead with the blue bike. The mysterious one. The one who wasn't on any of the disks. I wonder if _they_ sent you here?"

He knows...

I shared that thought with three other women.

"Can it slimball!" yelled Priss, raising her battered arm, "Even if you do know who we are, who else does? Dead men tell no tales,"

He was stalling us, trying to wrongfoot us for a moment. Buying time for what?

"You lose, Mason," Sylia's voice bore a savage grin. She emphasised the point, with the tips of her powerblades, both sliding menacingly into place. She circled her prey like a white shark, ready to move in for the final kill. Mason kept his distance. Both armours bore the scars of the night, one of Sylia's wings was broken at the root, and her faceplate was buckled in. Mason's showed streaks of silver, where the paint had been scratched loose

The four of us were already moving to back Sylia up.

1:15 left... but the countdown was slowing.

"I may lose," the black suit stepped back, considering it's options. I couldn't see his face, just one single optical lens. "But I can still... I can still... "

The suit stepped back, Sylia pressing him towards the edge of the roof. Nowhere to go. Cornered like the rat he was.

Screaming with sheer, mindless hate, he charged forward... one last hate filled grapple. Twin cannons built into his suit's vambraces fired with a dull thud, bursting the ground at the white Saber's feet. Our leader was already airborne on her thrusters, rising above and over him.

Flipping herself to face the black suit's back, she raised one of har cannons and fired, spitting blue fury into Mason's back. The shot kicked Mason hard in the back, knocking him forward, but his armour seemed to hold. He spun around, holding his own cannon ready. One last shot, aimed right for Sylia's head.

She ducked under, rolling athletically to the right, Mason's shot firing wide.

Smoke was rising from his back, thin, wispy grey tendrils. At first, I thought it was an optical illusion, or at most, some insulations charring. I was proved wrong by the first spark of flame licking out from between two panels. small at first with a strong purple hue. Its wearer didn't even seem to notice it for a moment, raising his arm once more to fire. Then the heat bit him, suit jerking to the right. One of the cells vented with a pop, with gas bursting out in a cloud.

The suit was engulfed in a bright, violet fireball.

"Oh my God," he screamed, realising what was happening. Desperately, he swatted at his back, trying to pat the flames out. Another cell vented, fuelling the fire, then another. The man inside howled in agony as his body began to cook in its steel oven, smoke and flame consuming him whole, seeping from cracks and seams.

I stood transfixed. All five of us just stood, watching him burning, hearing his final agonised screams broadcast into our helmets. I could hear the roar of the flames, his gasping wheezing breaths as he swallowed gulps of superheated air. "Please," I thought I heard. It must've been my imagination. I hoped it was my imagination.

Flames rose from the neck of the suit, the channel finally... mercifully cutting off.

The suit dropped to its knees, still weakly struggling, arms waving in the heat. Smoke boiled up, thick and black, rising into the night air.

Sylia just watched, flames reflected in her armour. Why didn't she just shoot him and finish it? Why didn't any of us just shoot him? We all watched him burn to death. We all heard him screaming in pure agony as he was incinerated alive.

The suit dropped onto its front, and stopped moving. Flames danced merrily over the remains. In all likelihood, Mason was dead inside.

Nobody said a word.

There was no sound but the roar of flame, the pop and crackle as the fire consumed.

The white hardsuit lowered her weapons, slowly turning her back on the funeral pyre. Wordlessly, she moved to join the rest us. Nobody deserved to burn to death. Nobody wanted to say it. Our faces were hidden, but I was certain I wasn't the only person thinking it.

But... I checked my own battery cells... better him than me.

"We're leaving," she said. 2 words. That was all anyone could manage to say.

The battle was over. We'd won.

Mason was dead. We got some good intelligence. Nené'd burned our calling card into the concrete. A total victory.

Barely conscious, I clung to Linna as she rode my motorslave down the Tower. Nené hung on to Priss. Sylia rode alone leading us down.

It was over. I was still alive. Barely.

"Meg," Nené inquired, using a private channel "Who'se _they._"

Tet corporation, I guessed.

"Probably just lie"

"Hmm," The hacker didn't sound too convinced.

It was a good time to pass out.

-----

I came to at Raven's, on his diagnostic table. The cold night air lapped at my naked body, sending chills through my frame. A forest of 108 nerve-needles covered my body transmitting impulses back to a datalogger and cooling any pains.

I was aware of my arms and legs being strapped down, fixed hard into their zero-positions. It was any woman's nightmare.

But I wasn't worried. I recognised the ceiling quick enough.

The clamps held me by the shoulder, plugs puncturing my skin, mating with matching connectors inside. Blood flowed out of one, was filtered and purified, before being heated and pumped back through the opposite plug.

I could feel the heat flowing through my body. It told me I would be alright. Despite all the damage still registering in my mind. I was going to be okay.

Someone was mumbling to himself somewhere above my head, out of view. I could smell him. Sweat, oil, and masculine lust, buried beneath an insomniac tiredness and a professional face.

4:22:17am, my clock told me.

"Raven," I said weakly, "That you?"

"Doctor Raven," was the answer I got, gruff and sleepless. "I'm glad you decided to join me. It was getting a little lonely here all night, by myself, trying to bootstrap your repair systems without having any way to replace the lost blood."

"Thanks, I guess."

"Don't mention it." he answered, "Sylia pays me well enough for it."

As she paid all the Knight Saber's hospital bills.

I looked at my arm. It looked like a nightmare. The skin was cut and peeled back like a banana, revealing the mangled, veal-toned meat inside, and the white bones. There were stains where traces of adhesive were left behind after the metal bracings had been pulled off, scars where tendons had once joined with bone before being wrenched free. Insulated cables ran along the bones, running towards the metal ethernet socket in my wrist,

"I've got a new set of braces in the CNC mill, they'll be ready in about an hour," the doctor told. "You biomimetics are such a pig to work on. A mechanical model with this sort of damage, I could just replace the whole assembly."

I sighed.

"At least I'm not human."

A broken arm like Priss' would take weeks to heal.

"I'm not quite sure how to take that," Raven burred.

"You're even harder to fix," I chuckled.

"But we don't go wrong half as often, either. And when we do, we don't normally need a mechanic to fix us, just a splint and some bed rest."

He was almost bragging.

"True, I guess," I would've shrugged my shoulders too, "But it still takes you a lot longer to recover."

"Also true," he admitted, "We both have our advantages, but I'd still rather be human."

He was still moving outside my field of vision, somehwere above my head. I could hear him start to type away at one of his computers, punching commands into the equipment.

"I'm keeping your repair systems offline for now." he told me. "But they're functional again. I've got some glucose being added to your bloodstream, though it'll be a while before some of your other systems begin to come up."

The man yawned, his typing pausing for a few seconds.

"You should be able to walk in about 4 to 5 hours, but that arm will have to be immobilised for a couple of days to let the adhesives cure properly and allow the tendons to re-knit."

I let him work for a few minutes, feeling the memories of the night begin to wash over me. I closed my eyes, and I could still see the after image of the boomer's mouth laser flickering. A flash of fear thrilled through my body.

Just a hairs breath, a few fractions of a second later... and I'dve been dead. Nené might've followed me a few minutes later. We both could've died so easily.

"How're the others," I asked, forcing my mind off it.

"Hmmm." Raven stopped to think, "Priss broke an arm and has a bit of a concussion, Sylia's aggravated her rib injury..." She had a rib injury? "... Linna's got some bruising and some aches and pains. Nené was just bruised."

I smiled softly

"That's good. It could've been a lot worse."

"It could always be a lot worse," he reminded me with a sigh. A door opened. "Goodnight, Meg. I'm going to go get some sleep while that cycle finishes. I'm too old for this."

"Wait!" I called out.

The door slammed shut, leaving me alone... with nothing but the whir of a computer and the cycling hum of a pump for company. One of the lights overhead fizzed and flickered. The cold in the workshop started to nibble at my toes.

Yup, all alone. Just like the cars outside.

I closed my eyes, thinking it best to just rest. Raven had the right idea, just a little nap to padd the time. What harm could it do?

Memories of the night began to rear up, flickering through my mind like a bad movie. Small tremors ran through my body, muscles tensing ready to run, my stomach knotting itself. The boomer's mouth split open, laser charging... death inescapable... and...

Screw it, I thought, opening my eyes. In the end, I just stared up at the ceiling.

It was all luck... the whole lot of it. The thinnest of lines between life and death. I was going to spent the rest of my life running along the edge of a blade.

That was my choice.

And I was proud of it. I was part of something, something which was probably already being reported live around the world. I kept Nené safe. I got the pair of us out of a really tight spot. I kept my head when it counted, did my job, got the information needed, and I was still able to back Priss up at the summit.

And no one would ever know about it.

I'd go to work in about 6 hours, bandaged up with my arm locked in a cast. Somebody might ask what happened, and all I'd tell them was that I'd fallen down a flight of stairs. Eventually the memories of the night would cool and be filed away alongside other 'close calls', or crushed under new ones.

In a few weeks' time, I'd do it again. Maybe not in the Tower itself, but in some MegaTokyo back alley, or some warehouse in the outskirts of the city.

Because I wanted to. Welcome to the Knight Sabers.

Something nagged at me though, like a bad itch in the mind I just couldn't scratch.

Mason knew I was 'new in town'. While he could've figured it from the disks, he also knew who sent me. It wouldn't take vulcan logic to infer that he knew I was more than just a sexaroid then. He knew a hell of a lot more about this than he should have...maybe more than me.

How?

He had our names. He could really have burned us. Why didn't he?

I gave that a seconds thought.

Because he was an arrogant fuck, that's why. I'll bet he was waiting until he had us at his mercy, just so he could smugly reveal that he knew all along, just so we'd die knowing how badly he was going to hurt our families, or our friends.

I could believe that.

The only person who could've told me otherwise was dead.

----

Mason's death was headline news for three days. A direct assault on the Tower. Billions of Yen in damages. One of the highest ranking executives in the World's largest corporations brutally burned to death. It was world news. The Chairman himself never mentioned Mason, just the damage to the Tower. The Knight Sabers were terrorists to be hunted down.

He was finally bumped off the front page by a few documents leaked from within Mason's own personal files, demonstrating just how illegal some of the things Mason had been doing were. Bribery of public officials, insider trading, smear campaigns, industrial espionage. Including a plot to position himself to take the Chairman's seat.

It was a sign of how much Quincy had hated Mason that this information was even printed.

GENOM stock fell a little as the markets reacted, but they rebounded within a few days. A few traders made a killing. The corporation lumbered on like a juggernaut rammed head-on by a fly.

Questions were asked of a few public officials, but it was one scandal among many. It was something that would simmer for a while, but not change much.

Mason was buried on a Sunday, 9 days after the attack, with the coffin closed. It was a sparse funeral, not many more than a few family members wanting attend the disgraced executive's final farewell.

The five of us held a party at Sylia's new apartment to celebrate. It was also Nené's 18th birthday.

-----

That makes about 124 pages, or thereabouts. All preread by Antagonist. PM him some flowers please.

I actually have a bloody good in-universe explanation for why Mason didn't exploit the information on the DvD's more thoroughly. It'll never come to light, because it would've been mentioned in conversation between Mason and whoever else is involved, another mysterious man in black in the background, whispering powerful dreams in Mason's ear...

And it would've been really nice and cool foreshadowing and hinting at the future... a general conversation of ominous revealing. As it is, only one artifact of this whole setup is visible clearly in story. Since this is first person, it's the only artifact Meg encounters. And she completely ignores it as she has no idea what it is. It also ties in with the reason Meg is in Megatokyo....

It's not just because some random transdimensional corporation decided to dump her there for the lulz... there's things to be done.

It'll probably all come out much later.... but a plan **does** exist. And while Meg's own reason might be a little simplistic...it is a small part of the truth.

Also, someone remind me to re-edit parts of the first chapter sometime, since I only figured this stuff after I started it..

Anyway. Here's to the next.

-Dartz


	6. Razors Edge

Yours Truly, 2032

_Preread by Antagonist. Ishmael appears courtesy of Craig A. Reed.  
_

Yet another BubbleGum Crisis SI, in the traditional form  
Bubblegum Crisis... (c) Artmic/Youmex.  
I'm just borrowing this for a while, for some Fair Deal fun.

Mmmkay?

_Episode 6: Razor's Edge_

_**I...I**_

My arm was still stiff. Raven's custom parts were taking a while to bed in. I guessed it was probably just something psychological at that stage but it was hard to shake the feeling that something just 'wasn't right' inside.

_Always use GENOM Genuine parts when servicing your cyberdroid to prevent dangerous malfunctions_ warned the small print on the warranty card. I'd well believe it. It felt like someone else's arm entirely, rather than just my own repaired. Raven's parts were pretty much an exact match for the OEM, but they still felt different, a little stiffer. It was an infuriating distraction, like an itch inside that could never be scratched. As soon as I thought it was gone, I'd reach for something... and there it would be, right back and irritating as hell.

15 days and it still felt weird.

The Doctor assured me it had been done exactly to the manufacturer's specs. He _claimed_ that the new parts were actually better than the well-worn originals. Was that the problem? Were they too good? Didn't stop them from being bloody annoying.

I shrugged it off.

I had more important things to worry about.

Like not giving the game away.

The room was dark, the only light a few stray shafts of moonlight sneaking through a gap in the curtain. Priss hunkered down beside me, both of us taking cover behind a low futon. Linna was hidden out of sight behind another armchair, Mackie crouching beside her. Sylia had secreted herself behind a half closed dividing door, her diamond earrings glinting in the moonlight.

None of us were visible from the entrance.

Compared to her old penthouse, this apartment was a little more modest, Sylia not planning on staying her for longer than she had to. Compared to my place, it was still a luxurious mansion with soft carpets, softer beds and sumptuous leather chairs. Mackie's bedroom was bigger than my whole apartment, and there was one larger room for Sylia, the living room we were all gathered in, and a full kitchen separated by a dividing wall.

Our target would never know what hit them.

"Mackie! stop touching me!" snarled a voice from behind the couch.

"I can't, you're pushing me out from behind with that butt of yours," came the muffled, masculine answer.

"Hey, my butt isn't big!"

… followed by three sharp slaps. It wasn't Mackie hitting Linna, that was for sure.

"She right, it isn't" I snickered into my hands.

"Shut up or you'll give us away," Priss snapped in a whispered shout. "All of you!"

"I never said it was," Protested Mackie, raising his arms above the seatback, "It's just in my way. Move it."

"Don't touch me!" a woman shrieked.

More violence followed, distinctly one-sided.

"You backed into me!" the boy defended himself. It was a hopeless defence. 2 other women in the room were only going to ever side with their own, and the one sexaroid who could at least understand the bind the youngest Stingray was in was more concerned with maintaining her cover as a member of the female species than coming to the aid of the downtrodden.

"Mackie," said Sylia, her tone darkening. "We'll talk later."

It was fun. Everyone was giddy, the air prickling with the same tangible excitement as the bar before a concert. The singer was beside me, still sporting an arm in a cast and a few bruises from the battle with Mason. As did everyone… except for myself. Outside, above the argument, my ears could pick out the sound of footsteps.

"Target approaching," I grunted, trying not to spit laughing. Serious business time. Surprise had to be total, or the whole operation would fall flat. My whole body was starting to tinkle… I had to try hard not to… _disturb_ Priss beside me.

"Quiet, Quiet!" Linna shushed. Priss crouched down, body coiling up like a spring, ready to pounce. A bolt of pain shuddered through her body… ground down with a low growl. She must've tweaked her arm.

"I can't hear a thing," breathed Priss.

After spending the last how many years faced with a hundred and something decibels of pounding rock, that didn't surprise me.

"Nené is coming, trust me, I hear."

A finger tapping my own ear proved it. The singer shrugged.

"Just hide behind the counter then, Mackie," continued Linna.

"She'll see my shadow over there," the boy countered.

Footsteps, slowly drawing nearer. Tap-Tap-Tap on the floor outside the door. She was mumbling innocently to herself, completely unaware of the fate that awaited her. Rule 11 called for death, in this case, death by surprise party.

"It's too late now," the dancer hissed.

The doorbell chimed.

Nobody moved. Not even a single breath.

The doorbell chimed again, electronic bells ringing. Upstairs, a few children were running around, chased by the thud-thud-thud footsteps of their mechanical housekeeper. In the street ten floors below, a truck's airhorn filled the city canyons, echoes lingering in the air for a few long seconds.

"She said to come here," Nené mumbled to herself, standing outside, "Why isn't she answering the door?"

_Ping-Pong_, it chimed for a third time. Everyone tensed, the air straining with giddy anticipation. I could smell it, I could taste it, I could surf on their pheromones, allowing myself to be carried forward. This was going to be a _blast._ There was wine, there was beer, there were succulent finger foods all hidden out of sight.

"Sylia!" Nené's voice called in, rapping on the door. She was starting to sound like she was getting worried. The wrong location. She fumbled through her handbag... dropping something small and plastic on the floor. "Oh dammit," she muttered to herself, "I'm so damn clumsy. Why can't I be more Miss Athlete in there... " another fumble and a jingle of loose keys. Miss Athlete struggled to hold a giggle in, sputtering and spitting in her hiding space. "Maybe not so flat-chested though. I'd like to have an actual pair of boobs rather than just a padded bra."

The giggle segued into a Rottweiler's growl. Priss sniggered into her own hands beside me. Nené seemed to love the taste of her own foot, didn't she?

"Got them!" A pause, "Well it's definitely here so why isn't there an answer?"

Just open the door Nené, five people willed.

Tic-toc. Tic-toc. Hiding behind the couch waiting. Like waiting for that boomer to kick down the door and fill the room with needled death. Like waiting for that patrol closing in to crush me against a closed door. A quick thrill of adrenaline tightened my whole body, fight or flight kicking in full force.

Close my eyes, deep breath. What was coming through that door wasn't going to hurt me... not unless Nené had been possessed by Gozer somehow. There was nothing to fight here... no danger. None at all.

A burr of electric motors pulled the door open, as the woman outside stepped in.

Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. Not a single sound. Just a party. Just a friendly surprise. The door closed itself with an artificial thunk, a pair of feet quietly shuffling inside.

"Anyone?" their owner questioned. "Anyone here at all,"

Apprehensively, she edged forward into the darkened room, shuffling her feet on the carpets. Not a sound answered her, even the traffic in the streets below had stopped. A fridge in the kitchen clicked on, punctuating a deathly silence. For a brief moment, I knew Nené was wondering if this wasn't some sort of trap.

She was dead right.

A few more steps forward. We were waiting for a signal from our fearless leader. Just waiting.

The lights went up, stabbing the darkness, stunning the quarry as effectively as a flashbang. It took less than half a second for five of us to spring to our feet. Nene stood there like a rabbit in headlights.

"SURPRISE!"

Yup, she was.

Her shopping bags dropped to the floor, spilling scarves and jumpers. She wore an expression like she'd just been shot.

Sylia was first to step out, wearing a full business suit, carrying a a SilkyDoll branded paper bag in her hands… loaded with Stingray originals… probably worth more than I made in a month.

"Happy Birthday, Nené," she offered the bag with that same soft smile of hers on her face.

Each of us had some small present.

A Birthday party, Mason's funeral, cake, wine, good friends, and a blow by blow tactical analysis of just how well we did, and what we did wrong… a good night for all.

She went through each of us in turn, discussing hardsuit damage, tactics used, and replaying hardsuit recording data. Linna's video playback was elegant and fast, Priss close in and brutal. My own was a little unsettling… Staring into the same jaws of death projected on a 52-inch 3320p screen… it was enough to chill the bones again. And the polite, but nonetheless cruel criticism I received from Sylia didn't help me feel any better. Nené's recording was distinctly peaceful, right up until the last 2 minutes or so, before it became time for Sylia's.

I was glad I wasn't up on the roof. I'd had the easy job.

"… this unfortunately left Mason enough time to fire one final shot before the fire took hold." Concluded Sylia, the projected image behind her showing the final moments of her quick duel with Mason, "I believed my strike had finished the enemy off, when in fact it hadn't, and nearly paid for it with my life."

The screen showed the strike hitting the battery assembly when she'd been aiming for the computer systems, followed by the first few tendrils of smoke slowly winding up from between a dark gryke in Mason's armour. The camera stared down at the black suit for a few moments, HUD display reading out hardsuit status, battery, temperatures, available power and lifesigns of the other 4 members.

Mason's gun barrels flashed one last time, spitting one final ball of hate. The viewpoint camera ducked deftly under the shot, explosive bolts streaking overhead. Flames had started to lap up along one side of the black suit.

The image faded before the fire took hold. Watching Mason burn to death once had been enough.

"Needless to say, there are many areas for improvement for all of us, but, on the whole, good work. We all got out alive, we achieved our primary objective… "

"I hope he's burning in hell, too," Priss butted in, raising her glass of wine.

Nené suckled on her glass, shuddering. The barbequed chicken wings supplied for the party just didn't seem appetising any more. The projector whirred to life once more, a new image appearing behind our leader. One single, massive text file.

"… and our secondary. We have the contents of Mason's own private server. We know the details of each and every trade, of each and every cutback, shady deal and black project Mason was involved in. We also have a file listing giving names to some of GENOM's most secret projects. It will take months to go through it all. Ladies, we have had a big victory."

She took one long, triumphant drag from her cigarette before stubbing it out on the ashtray beside her.

"To victory!" cheered Nené, jumping to her feet. She tottered, lunging forward as alcoholic momentum took hold… caught herself… wobbled a little on her feet, then flopped backwards down, onto her chair.

Linna shielded her glass with her hands, "Hey! Watch my drink. I can't get red wine on my dress it'll never come out,"

"Sorry," slurred the sloshed policewoman. "The building is moving."

I chuckled warmly, "And Quincy is a care bear."

Linna giggled, sipping from her own glass. 1987 Chataeu LaBarre. Expensive. It tasted good… Not like grape-juice and anti-freeze.

Sylia continued, "Finally, successfully fighting a pitched battle in GENOM Tower has attracted quite a bit of attention… not just from law enforcement. In the last 5 days, I have received 5 new job offers from 5 new clients… and 3 from regulars… "

The future was looking good.

**I... I**

It was good… as good as could be expected anyway. As the heat of summer started to yield to autumn's chill, August bleeding into September, then on to October, I settled into the routine. Work, play, pay bills, train with the Sabers and then… on average once a week, a terrifying near death experience.

Some weeks, nothing would happen. Either nobody wanted to hire us, or the ADP was able to handle whatever GENOM dropped into the city without our help. Another week, we had three nights in a row fighting… One job, and 2 boomer incidents.

Each time, I was a heartbeat from death. A razor-blade. A hair's breath. Ducking under a skull-crushing punch at the last second, dodging out of the way of a screaming missile, or getting that one final shot in place at the absolute last moment before certain death.

I did get nightmares.

I might've been pinned against the wall, back in the Tower, held down by that same boomer. Except this time, I just wouldn't get out of the way in time. Or maybe I'd jump down a 50-story lift shaft, only to find my thrusters had run out of fuel. One night, I burned to death, just like Mason.

And each time, it scared the bejaysus out of me.

But, the more I did it, the more battles I racked up, the more 'almost killed's I added to my belt, the less it bothered me.

It was _always_ that one last shot, that one opening, the one second before detonation. And I always made it. 'Should've been killed' was slowly turning into could've been killed.

It was exactly what I was trained to do. The more I fought, the more this became obvious. The holo-sims offered me single points of weakness, I had to choose to whether to attack, or wait for a better opportunity. Attack and miss, and I've left myself vulnerable. Wait too long and fail on a timeout.

Training forces me to attack, while teaching how to discriminate between viable openings, and ones likely to get me killed. It taught me to make each strike count, because I wouldn't get a second.

And then get out of the way of the follow up attack, because a boomer didn't always go down with the first shot.

It was like riding a motorcycle, in a way. At first… in another life… everything was dangerous. The whole world wanted to kill me. But the more miles I'd put behind me, the more I began to realise what was _actually_ dangerous, the more I learned how to avoid those situations in the process.

And while all this was going on, I still worked at the bar. I still worked nearly 12 hours a day at the bar. 6 days a week. And as a nice little cherry on top of a fat sundae of work, I had to make up work time lost to GENOM boomers.

To say it wasn't easy was an understatement.

But I could do it.

I _did_ do it.

In fact, I bloody well loved it. It seemed so long ago, that I'd expected to be nothing more than a salaryman engineer, with a good salary, a nice home and a good car. I wanted to be ordinary. I never wanted to be a 'hero'. I never wanted to be a sentient sexdoll. I never wanted to work 12 hour days at minimum wage, then spend the night fighting steel-faced monsters in a hardsuit, before coming home to a tiny apartment on a ratted out old bike.

Now, I never wanted to be anything or anyone else.

Sure, I still missed my home and family from time to time, but MegaTokyo was my home now. Sure I'd like to have gone back, but only for a visit… just long enough to let everyone know I was OK and happy… and maybe win the cosplay prize at Eirtakon for my real steel hardsuit.

Did you make your own costume?

Err… Yes. Kind of.

The long and short of it though is… I was happy living in MegaTokyo. Most of all, I was proud of being a Knight Saber. I wished I could tell the whole world that I was something more than the sexy bartender at a back-end nightclub.

Especially when I found some of the effects of my alternate job in the media, or drifting around on the web. The special edition of Tokyo Sun Times with the '_Brian J. Mason Murdered'_ headline still held pride of place above my bed, but it was something else that really made me feel… for all the cheesiness of saying so… like I actually made a difference.

3 days after what had been just another boomer rampage… 3 Bu-55c's in District 12… a blog post appeared online, written by an ADPolice officer who'd been there. I read it on my own laptop.

"_I'm alive for another weekly update._

_That might not sound like much to you at home, or more likely in your office, but it surprised the heck out of me. I thought my number was up… Officer #Whatever it's your turn to die. _

_Last night, my unit was called to a boomer incident at a bank, I can't actually give the name of the place. Nothing out of the ordinary in my line of work. We mount up, we deal with it. They were supposed to be just 3 security boomers._

_We get there to find the building on fire, and that those three security boomers, are in fact, full on covert combat models. But, we have a job to do. We're the thin blue line between this city and a brutal steel death. We go in and take them on._

_Always Dying Police, we're called._

_Putting men with assault rifles up against full blown combat hardware never ends well. We knew this, but we went in anyway. As I said, it's our job. Even if we die, we give the people inside time to get away. It's a fair trade._

_It is goes pretty much as predicted. We can't even dent them, while they start ripping my squadmates apart. Literally ripping them apart. I took a bullet to the leg, a stray round that left me crawling on the floor, screaming in agony._

_One of them turns to face me. There was no hatred in its red eyes. No murderous intent. It would kill me… and it would mean nothing at all to it. I'd feel my limbs pop off and my life fluids rush out, and that would be that._

_This is it, I thought. This is finally it. At least my family would get the life insurance._

_I was picked up by an armoured hand. I was ready to die._

_Instead, I felt myself being carried towards the door._

They_ had appeared. They call themselves the Knight Sabers, I'm sure you've heard of them, they're number 1 with a bullet in this city, after killing that GENOM rat 2 months ago. What's less well known however, is what they do day to day._

_When they're not raiding corporate offices, they're in the habit of rescuing ADPolice squads who find themselves in a sticky situation. Nobody knows why exactly… maybe it's training for them. The cynical voice wonders if they do it solely to earn themselves immunity from prosecution. _

_No ADP will touch them… despite the insistence of the brass and our corporate overlords… because I don't know any officer whose life they haven't saved at least once._

_There's 5 of them, women apparently, dressed all in form fitting armour. Silver, Blue, Pink, Green, Yellow. They may be boomers, they may be cyborgs, they may be human. Nobody can tell._

_They arrived on-scene and took less than five minutes to destroy three combat boomers. To give some perspective, the same job might well have taken the best of our hardware a half-hour._

_One of them carried me clear, while the others covered her. I'll never forget her… like a guardian angel in her yellow armour. I'll never be able to thank her enough. They carried every survivor from my squad clear of the building, working in relays alternating between covering and carrying,, before finally taking down the three cyberdroids with a lightning assault._

_I wish they'd shown up earlier… they might've saved more lives than they did but I can't begrudge. They always had the choice of not showing up at all._

_Because of them, 4 police officers who would otherwise have been killed last night went home to their families. Including myself. I don't think I could ever thank them enough for it._

_I hope one of them reads this._

_Well, until next week_

_-ChocolateCHiPs_

I did this.

I saved this person.

I wanted the whole bloody world and its mother to know it.

But it didn't always work like that. We didn't always save everyone… usually we didn't. Usually our aim was to make sure no more police were killed rather than none at all. The things a 55-c could do to a human body… ever twisted a leg off of a well cooked chicken?

After each time, I went to work the day after and never breathed a word.

Nobody suspected the truth… about either of my secrets. My presence in GENOM's databases had ended the night Mason's life had. The only record of my existence in a police database was a short statement that I was a witness to a boomer incident, and nothing more. I didn't even have my speeding tickets to my name.

At work, late in the afternoon when the bar was practically empty, I'd taken to listening to the news, looking for any hints of rampaging Griffons, or stolen Genaros shuttles. Nothing but the normal for Megatokyo.

"_Today's big news story,"_ said the digital DJ, "_Internationa_l _Pop artist Reika Vision Chang, is feared dead, after her private aircraft overran the runway in stormy conditions at New York's Palin memorial airport. Vision had been hoping to relaunch her world tour which had sensationally been suspended in May."_

That was… sobering. Take a deep breath. Exhale with a long sigh. Hope Irene is alright. Then carry on. The metaphysical butterfly was flapping its wings. Yeah… I hoped Irene was alright, but this had nothing to do with me. All it was, was a depressing footnote, a little 'screw you' from the universe. 'Stop having fun, Meg', it was saying.

Fuck it.

"_Reika's sister, Irene Chang, could not be reached for comment," _A pause, as the reader switched stories, _"The Soviet Union today began its pull out of Antarctica, withdrawing from a conflict analysts believe it no longer had the resources to support. Sources within the United Nations have refused to confirm whether this means the end of peace operations on the ice continent, stating that a withdrawal would be decided only upon proper examination of the conflict."_

And the world moves on, just as I did. Just a tragic accident.

"_The first residents of GeoCity moved in today, with Chairman Haruhara of GeoCon construction personally handing over the keys to the underground apartments. The underground development has been lauded as the future of urban planning, especially after the cancellation of the Aqua-city project 10 years ago. Buried 250 meters down, the city provides all its own energy from geothermal sources, with the tunnelling design and depth of drilling rendering the city immune to earthquakes."_

Like a submarine immune to sinking by being deep under water. I washed glasses.

"_In financial news, GENOM Corporation has tabled a bid of 30.2 billion yen for a controlling stake in Zone Corporation. Rumours from within Zone have hinted that the Corporation intends to refuse the offer, though no concrete statement has been issued. Zone Corporation is most notable for its ongoing research into second-generation artificial intelligence."_

At about the same time, about a mile away, a phone was ringing in Sylia's office with a job offer. Simultaneously, Nené ambled in through the door riding a draft of her usual cheerfulness. That made 2 customers. Newspaper-man was skulking in the corner.

"Afternoon Nené," I offered a cheerful greeting.

"_In Local news, City Councillor Nezumi sensationally resigned today amid claims of corruption and vote rigging. The former councillor gave a short press conference merely stating, 'I am not a crook.', before disappearing into a waiting limousine. The former councillors press officer released a further statement calling this deliberate harassment of an honest politician, stating that they have already begun libel proceedings within the United Kingdom."_

Sadly, that wasn't one of ours.A journalist by the name of Nissan Vannette got that one.

"Meg, did you hear the news?"

She was lit up like a human Christmas tree with excitement.

"Vision?"

Obviously not. My mind just hadn't caught up to that.

"No! I went up a pay grade!"

She was so giddy… I wondered just how much caffeine and sugar she'd downed. Nené wasn't so much a live wire, as a fizzing, crackling ball of neon pink energy, barely contained in a uniform so sober and formal.

"_On the lighter side of life, a kitten was rescued today from a sewer, after being missing for three days. Little tabby had chased a rat down the pipework, before getting herself stuck deep inside. MegaTokyo fire service dug the lucky little cat out, which was glad to still have 8 of it's 9 lives intact."_

"Ooh, congratulations. "

She beamed. "Grade K2, one step below making Dispatch Sergeant."

"I moved up a grade too," I bubbled, forming the joke in my mind. "I now get paid a pittance… a single step up from sweet fuck all."

Well, I thought it was funny. Nené dropped into a disapproving pout.

"Why don't you get a better job then? Do something else other than working here. A place like this is so below your potential it's not funny, Meg."

Who was she to tell me what was below my potential?

"I _like_ my job," I stated, folding my arms. And in anyways, the higher up the labour ladder I climbed, the more people would begin to care about where I'd come from to get there.

"Yeah but… " she searched for the right words, "It's not really a lifetime job, is it?"

"I have my reasons," I said, praying she would just bloody drop it.

Her face lit up,"If it's because you're a boomeroid, the ADPolice have changed their recruitment restrictions. Provided you pass VK don't show signs of boomer syndrome, you can join."

A boomer joining the ADPolice. Hmm. Like a Catholic Orangeman. There was something fiendishly exciting about the idea.

"Hmmm… " I feigned interest, "Detective Deckard?"

Nené started to giggle. Catching the joke, I pulled my wallet from my jacket pocket, flipping it open FBI-style to my drivers license.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions, ma'am," I growled in my best Harrison Ford, "You're watching television. Suddenly you realize there's a wasp crawling on your arm. What do you do?"

She'd giggle it to death. "I love that movie, especially Rutger Hauer's body. Too bad real boomers… or real men… don't have bodies like that."

We may have been living Blade Runner day to day, but humans were still humans… and with a notable exception smiling back at me through a mirror, most human-mimicking boomers either wallowed at the bottom of the uncanny valley, or were covert models with deliberately human imperfections so they wouldn't stand out as much..

"Yeah, too bad," I agreed… not that I really meant it. I must've been the only sexaroid in the world who didn't have sex. "Something to drink?"

"Yup, something celebratory."

"Champagne?"

"And cheap," she qualified, her expression falling. So not that much of a pay grade rise, then.

"Bacardi and coke?"

Which was her usual drink order anyway, but I could do something special with it.

"Double Bacardi," she added, holding up two fingers. Adventurous for a person who held her drink like the Titanic held water.

"Coming up!"

I busied myself, digging through the bottles. There's Bacardi… the cheap stuff bought over the shelf that's watered down coming from the supplier to get into a lower tax-bracket, and _Bacardi_… a case of the real stuff brought in about half an inch worth of dust ago. Nené of course would only realise the difference after a couple of glasses, by which stage I'd have to make sure she made it to a taxi.

The alleyway beside the bar was lethal… thanks to it being a long black hole of an alley, with no lights, no CCTV and crawling rats… not just the rodent variety either. Blame the lack of CCTV on the owner of the shop next door objecting to it because of 'privacy'. Yeah right, he was crooked as a witch's nose, and everyone knew it.

A few more bodies entered the bar, shuffling through the door.

"One moment," I called back, not turning around, shuffling a few Suntory bottles around. Glass and plastic clinked and rattled.

"No hurry there now girl, we just want to be seeing your boss is all."

I never got why people compared Osaka accents to Texas… it really reminded me a hell of a lot more of Cork city back home.

"Standard order?"

"Yup, for all three of us. Y'know who we are right now, dontcha?"

As if I could forget. The 3 musketeers.

Nené, just eeped.

"Ken's in his office, he's expecting you," I said, standing up.

3 Men in bright coloured suits, foam shoulder pads and square-cut hair were waiting for me. One of them, the leader with a dragon tattoo on his cheek, smirked jovially back at me. The second, taller, bulkier and with leering eyes loomed possessively over Nené. He probably weighed three times as much as her. The third, was the youngest, about Nenés age and raging with hormones... he winked at me. He was only playing around, keeping a safe distance.

I knew them alright. Warera, Rory and Conda.

Nené was shivering, white as a ghost.

"We're here on business," he turned to the terrified officer and winked playfully, "So pleasure will have to wait. Come on boyos," he nodded towards the stairwell door below, off the side of the dancefloor "Let's get this over with."

The tallest shot me a dark look, smirking savagely at me, golden teeth glinting in the lights. Boomeroid, my senses signalled. "We'll be back," he said, licking his lips. "Sweet one."

"No you don't Rory-boy, no you don't," the leader pulled him away. "Business before pleasure."

Well… mostly harmless. Rory always worried me… there were more than a few screws loose in is head rolling around. The three stooges disappeared down through the door below, chattering as it shut. Close my eyes and exhale.

Nené took a few seconds to control herself… time enough to finish fetching her drink.

"Those were… " she gulped,

"893 Insurance," I finished with a smirk, sliding the fizzing glass towards her, "… I know them well enough, they really are harmless."

She didn't seem so reassured, and truth be told, I didn't blame her. They scared the hell out of me the first time they showed up at the door too.

"I don't like it," she said quietly, watching the doorway below. "I know how violent those types can get. I get calls all the time at dispatch desk where they've used boomers to _solve_ petty disputes."

All I could do was shrug.

I shrugged, "Ken hates them, but he still trusts them more than he trust GENOM. 893 ruins you if you miss a payment, GENOM ruins you full stop."

Which was the truth. I'm obliged to say 'unfortunate' truth, because we're 'good' people and the local mafia are 'bad' people. But honestly, it was an arrangement that worked, not an arrangement to feel good about.

Nené groaned, "I don't like it. I'm in the police, what am I supposed to think about this?"

Of course, Nené was _right_. But a little impractical. But it was just a little evil. Technically, by paying them off, we were part-responsible for whatever crimes they might commit.

"Evil thrives when good people do nothing," I quoted, leaning back against the wall behind. There were little evils in everyone's lives. Sometimes it would rub against our world trying to grab our attention. We chose not to see it. It wouldn't go away just because we've turned our back on it. But maybe, if we left it alone, it would leave us alone.

"And it sucks!" declared the cop, taking one long gulp from her glass before slamming it down onto the counter, sloshing a few mouthfuls worth over the bar counter.

Even the Knight Sabers ran on little evils. While we tried to do good… we were very selective about whom we worked for and what we did for them… we _were_ still mercenaries. Industrial espionage was as much our stock in trade as kicking GENOM in the bollocks, or saving ADP lives. The little 'evil' paid for the big good we did. At the end of the proverbial day, because we got paid 45 million to steal a battery prototype from a GENOM lab and deliver it to 'an interested party', 4 ADPolice officers went home to their families 3 days later where otherwise they would've died.

Swings and roundabouts and all that.

"More drink?" I offered, still making drinks for the others.

"Please." Switch tracks, she decided "Did your old laptop finally die?"

"Huh?" I threw a glance over my shoulder, at the empty space beside the till where it normally sat. A cheap radio had taken its place, playing classic turn-of-the-century oldies. "Oh, it at home running an FEA on a project Sylia has me doing."

"Ooh… What project?"

That got her interest, the pink haired woman leaning in close, eyes widening with rabbit-like curiosity.

"A new 'tool' for my 'overalls'." Or in plain-speak, a new weapon for my hardsuit.

I wore a wry smile, determining it would be best not to tell her anymore than that one hint.

"Ooooh," her eyes sparkled, "Any info?"

"'Fraid not," I crossed my arms. "Loose lips sink ships."

Nené looked puzzled, before filing that particular reference away for a web crawl sometime later.

"Please?"

No human could resist those shimmering puppydog eyes, pleading for information as only the self described worlds greatest hacker could. Her codes could crack computers. Her eyes could crack the soul.

But I was no human.

I _still_ had to give her a few hints mind, _that_ was a lesson I'd learned the hard way, and I wasn't too keen on reinstalling my laptop's OS again.

"The plans are on Sylias server. Password is… " and I thought I was being really clever with this… "probably the best password in the world."

The merest moment of thought…

"It's not Carlsberg, is it?"

Darn.

"… no… not exactly."

She didn't get the capitalisation right for one thing. The young woman leaned forward, impishly twirling a few strands of candy hair. But my lips were sealed. With that much of a headstart, it wouldn't take her five minutes to figure out what I was doing.

I'd have to screw with something to make it more of a challenge. A simple script that'll kill the contents of the archive, if it's opened anywhere but on a two-decade old Linux system. It was like playing chess against a grand master. The object wasn't to win, it was to at least have the satisfaction of making them pause and think for a second before they crush you.

"Why aren't you running it on Sylia's computer, anyway?" she questioned."It'd do in five minutes what those old 64-bit machines'd take days to do."

The answer to that was simple,

"I had my computer at home, not Sylia's."

Building the model would've taken a month, no matter what I was building it on. I'd rather have done it in the comfort of my own shoebox, than the Panty Drawer.

"Makes sense."

She was already plotting.

The door downstairs opened again, the three 'insurance salesmen' chatting amongst themselves. Their drinks were ready and waiting, but I hoped they wouldn't stick around.

"Hey, Deckard girl. Be seeing ya!" Warera waved up. "We got more work to do."

Nené's expression blackened. There was no sign of bloodspatter. No brass knuckles. Even Conda's punch perm was still intact. Everyone looked cheery. Ken peered through the door, throwing me a thumbs-up to show that he was alright, before dropping back in to balance his books.

Conda mumbled something as they came up the stairs, drawing nods from the other two.

"Your drinks," I said, keeping my cool.

"Sorry, we're in a hurry," he said, wearing a Cheshire cat's grin. "Maybe you'd like to come with? I'm sure we can offer at least twice the cash at our place. You certainly have the talent girl."

Punctuated with a salesman's wink. It was obvious what talent he was referring to. I had two D-cups full of it. The pay _was_ tempting, even if it was bloody obvious that they wanted me for more than my bar work skills. The part of my mind built in a factory calmly pointed out that I was more than capable of handling a 'multi-user environment'.

The part of my mind that used to be human told it to shut up.

"No thanks," I shook my head. And that was all I'd say.

"Your own loss, girl," he grinned lustfully at me. "Though someone with your upgrades would be very popular,"

Upgrades?

.

"Don't be scared now, it's obvious _someone_ paid for your work there now girl."

"Don't you have a job to do?" I snarled.

Part of me wanted to just stun him right there, show him exactly what 'enhancements' I had, just how much power I had over mere humans. I was more than just a boomeroid. It would've been so satisfying to show them just how much more. If I _really_ wanted to, not only could I take that 'job', I could pull so many sexual strings when I got there, I'd end up practically running the place. I wouldn't be _officially_ the leader, but a few purred words in the ear, an atmosphere strained with pheromones, loaded with lust… I could control the whole damn lot.

He wasn't wearing shades. I locked eyes with him, tapping directly into the lizard brain deep inside. Just a little tweak… just enough to make him blush ever… so… slightly.

Licking his lips, he swallowed hard, Conda lingering behind him, giving puzzled looks. Rory fixated on Nené. Nené was watching, enraptured. I could smell Warera's arousal, building, smouldering hot. Nené's curiosity, his comrades' concern.

You're not supposed to feel like _this_ on the job, are you?

"Hey man, you alright?" Conda placed a hand on his shoulder.

It was like he'd touched him with a tazer, the group's leader near launching out of his shoes with the shock of it. The man blinked, while I broke the little spell.

"Problem?" I asked, feigning concern.

"Uh… n-no," he stuttered, mind flailing like an elastic band that had just snapped. He glanced at Rory, who was busy raping Nené with his eyes, then at my 'talent'. His own mind rebooted. "Catcha later girl."

He breezed out the door, trailing the scent of confusion behind him. His comrades in arms left silently, both of them wondering just what had gotten the wind up their leader. They left silence, and the scent of cheap aftershave in their wake.

I blew a long, relieved sigh through pursed lips. Same time next month then.

Nené sat there, pensively nursing her second drink. The radio murmured.

"_All the rules don't mean a thing, they're_

_wasting time, the mem'ries sting_

_Keep your image, plant that smile, answer questions, don't let on_

_Make up stories all put on, that's your_

_Life.."_

The old man with the newspaper turned the page, and normality returned. Check for messages on my wristwatch from Sylia… none… then move on to checking the steam cleaners to see if they were finished their cycle.

"Meg, can I ask you a personal question?"

Nené's voice was solemn as a tombstone. Was she about to ask me whether I was really a boomeroid, or something more? Whatever it was, I was going to have to lie… same as always.

"How did you really get your body?"

Uh… I almost wished she'd outright asked me if I was a sexaroid or not.

"Um… " I searched for an answer… buy time to think of one! "What makes you ask?"

"I'm pretty sure it wasn't an accident, like your background says… your body is much higher quality than anything provided medically. And then," she stared down into her own reflection, shimmering on the surface, "I know Sylia constructed a lot of your past… I read into it, it has her hallmarks. She gave you a new identity soon after we met. So, I guess you're older than your birthdate says you are."

"And?"

I swallowed a lump, trying to act nonchalant. My body was fizzing, nerves tingling with fear.

"Those Yakuza, something they said, reminded me of a rumour I heard in work. They were kidnapping people… men and women… who owed a serious debt to them, and subjecting them to some extreme cyber-surgery and mental programming, to use them as prostitutes in their clubs until the debt is paid. They still remember who they were, but they're programmed to be… " she hunted for the right word… "sexually permissive, to the point where they don't think twice when asked to do things that would ruin a normal person's mind."

A boomeroid then, that's a sexaroid in all but name, was how I understood that.

"What's your point?"

"Meg, are you… or um... " she fumbled with her words. "_were_ you, a Yakuza sex slave?"

In any other context, that might've been funny. But I could've been one, very easily. All I had to do was say no to Irene and ride off. I'd've found out what I was eventually, I'dve grown hungry, thirsty, and desperate for cash to live. If I'd just been a sexaroid… rather than having human memories… I'd never have even given a second thought to it. I'm built to have sex, people will pay me to have sex… I can make people want to have sex. It would've made perfect sense to do. It _did_ make perfect sense.

And I was just repeating the same points I'd made to myself a hundred times before, in the hopes of stalling the question. A lot of if's, a lot of buts, and not one among them worth a hill of peanuts.

I had to give an answer.

I had to give a good enough answer that she wouldn't think to look any further. If there was one person who could uncover the mysteries of Meg without breaking a sweat, she was sitting opposite me, waiting intently for an answer.

I knew what to say.

"Nené, Sylia created my background because my past… what I really am… if it ever came out, it will get me killed."

I stared her dead in the eyes to show how serious I was. No mucking around with sexaroid powers to throw her off balance. Just honest eye contact to go with an honest answer.

"If you were, we could… " she started to protest.

Either the AD Police could investigate, or the Sabers themselves.

"Don't look into it. Promise me you won't. Please," I implored her, not breaking her gaze. What she'd find definitely wouldn't be what she expected.

"Alright, I won't," she held her hands up, "I promise Meg. But… if you are… it's really okay. Nobody will think any less of you."

And if they found I was a boomer? I wondered privately. Things would get bad. Keep the masquerade up, Meg.

"Thanks." I smiled. A spark of mischievous inspiration, "But I'm not ashamed of what I am. In fact, I'm proud." And I was. Even if the mere _idea_ of someone being proud of being a 'Yakuza sex slave' seemed to throw her through the loop. "I wake up and feel fit and strong, and comfortable with my body. I feel different to human, and it feels great."

Nené gave me a dubious look.

"That might just be mental programming. What they… " a pause… "_If _that's what happened. Your mind was completely altered without your consent. The only reason you're okay with it is because they raped your mind. It was a violation of the self compared to a violation of the body."

Her voice hung in the air, probably longer than she'd meant it to. As far as she was concerned, how could I _not_ care about this? Newspaper man was enraptured by the soap opera.

Mind rape? Maybe that was was Tet corporation did to me. They altered my mind to make it fit. I never even considered it like that. A violation of the self? Or just a quick practicality to prevent the self from completely fucking itself over the moment it realised what had just happened?

Not once, though, did I ever actually think about it. It never nagged. It never bothered me one bit. After all, as much as I simplified things for pronouns' sake, I didn't consider myself to even be that person anymore.

And from the outside, maybe that'd look like the true hell of it. Inside, it didn't matter a damn.

"I agreed to it," I lied, "It prevents boomer syndrome," Nené wore an expression like she'd been shot. I just shrugged it off. "It's like porting a program to a new platform; some things need to be changed. The core remains the same."

Nené had to think about that. I wondered just how I could dig myself out of this little hole. Okay Nené, that's really bullshit. I'm a sexaroid, and I have been from the start. Somehow, that didn't seem like a healthy thing to say. Faking Ghost in the Shell philosophy was a bloody headache.

"I'm not sure how comfortable I'd be with it," she said eventually.

And that from the same person who would enthusiastically tell me that she'd kill for a body like mine. I wonder how she'd feel if someone offered her the chance to be a 33-s? I wonder where Tet corporation had gone. I'd heard nothing from them in about 5 months, more or less. I hadn't thought about them in about as long. So then, just why did they dump me here, and why the silence?

I wasn't sure I _wanted_ an answer. The longer they stayed quite, the better I felt. Alright, nuts to this, change of subject time.

"Where's Linna, you don't normally go drinking without her?"

Nené was almost relieved at the change of pace.

"She's helping Priss move home, then she's going to watch Priss' opening show at _The Richmond. _I'm not going because that place is too big, and it has a bit of a skeevy reputation with the girls at work."

"Priss' truck still runs?"

Unless she decided to move into a proper apartment…

"Apparently, unless it's just getting a tow."

Yup. Just another ordinary day. Life, death, cybernetic rebirth.

Simultaneously, both our wristwatches began to chirp for attention.

A message from Sylia.

She'd called a meeting at 8pm.

Bugger.

**I... I**

"I have some errands to run," I told Isildore, "Take over for a bit, I'll be back soon."

The trick to skipping off work was to act like you had every right to do so. With any luck, I'd be back before midnight. Change out of my work clothes into something more comfortable. Change into my leathers, then wheel my bike to the lift, and rise Thunderbird-like to the surface.

Well, I was hardly going to park it in the alleyway to be vandalised... so I used the lift normally used for stock taking, to bring beer, gas and random hardware down from the street to the cellar. I revelled in my cleverness, especially since Priss had at least one machine stolen from there... even though she'd locked it to a railing.

The K12 was on its last legs anyway, leaving an incontinent stain of brown oil on the concrete beneath it, sounding more than a little tappety when it finally fired up. The poor thing drank a half litre of oil a week, sometimes more. While the engine still pulled well, it was pretty obvious it could do with an overhaul... which wasn't something I could afford. I just hoped it'd last until Raven finished its elder sister. That's all I bought it to do. A cough of blue smoke out the exhaust pipe, however, didn't inspire confidence.

I passed Lady633 on the way to the meeting, pulling up at a trafficlight opposite the buildings former location. It was just a vacant lot now, surrounded by wooden hoarding advertising rental space in the rebuilt tower. Offices, retail or residential, all at competitive prices. _Bango Skank _also advertised himself in red spraypainted letters, taller than a man. From inside, a few telltale wisps of black smoke drifted into the evening sky, a few homeless having made themselves at home. I could smell the chemical scent of burning tyres, above the acrid alcohol exhaust, the sweetness of my leathers, and my own sweaty body inside. They'd have to move on soon, the billboards promised completion of the new building in January with construction starting in a few days.

The lights turned green, releasing the waiting traffic. Early evening saw the city still feeling the effects of rush-hour... and made me glad to be on two wheels. I wasn't a hardcore biker like Priss... not by a long shot... while I did still enjoy riding, the simple fact was, the best way to get around Megatokyo was by motorcycle.

And I missed my K100. It was the closest thing I had to going home. Well, to my original home.

I was cutting through the traffic like a razor, slicing between the stationary lines of cars, trucks and delivery vans. Neon lights were starting to take over from the sun, sky above turning a burning red… the same colour as my hair. An orbital scramjet slashed across the evening sky, trailing a daisy-chain contrail, glittering in the low sunlight. A sonic boom followed it seconds later, rolling past like a distant rumble of thunder, mingling with the hum of traffic and the bustle of the crowds. It was early enough that the nocturnal dregs were still hiding in the dark spaces down black alleys, but still late enough to see the first of the nightclub revellers sharing footpath space with the last few salarymen and OL's hurrying home.

Max Headroom gazed down on Akihabara from a 10-story electronic billboard, 3D-display reaching out over street below. Water jets mounted high on the surrounding tower blocks emitted a soft mist of thirsty rain as the artificial presenter cracked open a refreshing can of Coca-Cola.

"_C-c-c-catch the Wave! Drench your thirst,"_ boomed hidden speakers.

Most people just ignored it… they were well used to that sort of thing. You could tell if someone was new in town… they always stopped and stared. The electric town existed in a sort of neon twilight, never quite day, never quite night, and always buzzing with a static charge. Rei Ayanami and Asuka Sorhyu crossed the road in front of me… cyber cosplayers… men or women who'd saved for years, or taken on some serious debt, to buy replica bodies of their favourite animé characters.

Some thought it a bit… creepy.

The bustle of the city-centre was dying as the evening sun began to dip below the mountains to the west. Shadows lengthened, before melding together into a soft gloom, lit by the still-bright sky above. Sodium streetlights flickered into life, burning a dim red as they slowly warmed. Genaros station was the first star to make its appearance for the night, sitting like a permanent flare in the sky announcing to the city's darker denizens that it was time to crawl up from their pits. The office lights on GENOM tower also answered the call. Twilight had well and truly settled into place.

The glitz and neon faded the further out from Tinsel City I got, buildings steadily growing older or dirtier. Ten minutes out from the most densely populated space on planet Earth and it seemed as if every second storefront was either dilapidated and abandoned… or just a grimy cover for something sinister inside. Concrete was cracked, footpaths were broken, windows had been crazed and cladding had falling from building fronts exposing the bare blocks behind. The roads were barely repaired, cracks hastily filled in with tarmac after the quake. Suspension clattered off potholes and deep cracks. An abandoned tower block loomed over three homeless men taking shelter in the doorway, heat-giving fires burning in open windows. The top three stories had partially collapsed years ago… probably in the quake… ironwork rusting in the sea air. It was scheduled for demolition… three years ago. Now, it was one of Megatokyo's myriad of crumbling squats.

I didn't have much money… but I definitely wasn't poor. Poor was living under newspapers in a rusting shithole like that.

Gunning the engine hard… praying it wouldn't decide to quit and strand me alone in a place like this… I turned my back to it. It wasn't even worth thinking about. Nothing more than a bad place to break down. The glare of a headlight sparked like a welding arc in my mirrors. An engine yowled up behind, pitch and timbre attenuated by the city canyons, into a screaming banshee wail, 8 cylinders screaming at 20,000rpm or more. The rider waved to me as she streaked past, her passenger clinging like a limpet to the back. I flashed her back with my high-beams.

Anyone who wondered why Priss would live in a trailer when she was making more money than I did, would do well to figure out the costs of buying and running her motorcycle. At a guess, it made 300bhp, without turbocharging.

I had 140 from new… probably 120 now… but still tonnes more torque in this 1200 than a 1000cc screamer that only made good power between 17,500 and 19,500rpm.

And unlike Priss, I tended to stick close to the speed limit. I watched her recede into the distance, scaring a pedestrian along the way.

Taking a breath of sea air was as refreshing as sticking my face down a manhole and inhaling the sweet aromas of MegaTokyo's municipal sewers. Since the quake, half the sewerage system dumped out into Tokyo bay anyway, along the occasional flood inundating the fault, washing festering garbage out to sea. A mist was rolling in from the seafront, hugging the road and seeping between buildings. Each streetlight, traffic light and electronic sign had its own glowing Jinny-Joe centred on the lamp.

It was beautiful.

And peaceful.

The fog seemed to smother all noises like a thick blanket, silence closing in as the bike's engine shuddered to a halt. The Panty Drawer was bleak, cold and utterly uninviting. To any passerby, it seemed like nothing more than another half-derelict warehouse building… completely unworthy of note. If they bothered to peer through dirty windows, they would see boxes of ladies' underwear. And maybe a pair of motorcycles, one of which was too old to be worth stealing, and the other was blocked in awkwardly by the first.

About 30 metres beneath, down a flight of utterly unwelcoming stairs, hidden behind a false electricity panel with " anger Hig Volt e" printed on it in rusting letters, was an underground base to impress Batman.

Boiling in my leathers, I pulled the zip down revealing just enough chest to allow a refreshing draft cool its way down to my stomach and beyond. It also showed a fair bit of cleavage, but that was a non-issue. No sign of Nené's little Honda anywhere… she was either getting a taxi, or Sylia was helping her in. I could pick out three voices coming up the stairs, none of which were hers.

"Evening all," I greeted with a half hearted wave.

"Hey Meg," answered Mackie, with a smile on his face, climbing down from the truck. "The others are in the break room, Sis's gone to pick up Nené. We just picked up a good job."

I guessed as much. If we'd been asked to come immediately, it would've been an ADP mission.

"Who with?" I asked, jumping down onto the old tracks behind the truck.

"She didn't say," the teenager shrugged it off. She never does. And those eyes of his…

"My face is up here," I deadpanned. As was required from all members of the organisation. Oh well, he was only human after all.

"Yeah, but you're taller than me."

"Good comeback," I winked. Back to business. "Fix my motorslave yet?"

"No," he shook his head, turning visibly green, "It'll run rear wheel drive, I got the," he shuddered and gulped, swallowing a lump of his last meal for a second time "… juicier pieces out of the fans, but the front compressors are still clogged with feathers, and some of the stages might've core-locked after the compressor shaft surged."

Having a suicidal seagull fly through one of the flight turbines might've made for a hilarious after-action video review, but at the time 100 feet above very solid concrete, all it made for was a stream of terrified invectives, a long spiral down and a ruined delivery van after I'd used it as a fibreglass cushion.

"Thanks," I placed a warm hand on his shoulder, firm grip and soothing smile implying far more reward than he would ever receive from anyone. Except from maybe Nené… even if neither of them had realised it yet. "I really appreciate it."

His teenaged hormones started to boil, churning away happily under his skin. He didn't blush with shame, he didn't sputter or try to avert his lustful gaze. Fair fucks to him, he had guts. Maybe that's another benefit of being the younger brother of the boss? Even if every silver lining had a cloud beneath, naturally. In Mackie's case that cloud was probably the most tortuous one possible for a teenager… he could look all he wanted, but never touch. That didn't stop him from repairing Priss' bike on promise of a simple smile.

"And the others?"

"Like I said… in the break room waiting for Sylia and Nené."

"Grand so." Another smirk and a wink as a reward.

I left him to his work, clambering up out of the former track pit. Some of the signage overhead still displayed the time of the Kanto 2 quake, announcing that the next train was just a minute away seven years ago. Time-bleached advertisements offered sneak peaks at GENOM's 2026 model year, while others spoke of optimism for the year ahead, and the completion of Bayshore and Aqua City developments. It was strange to see the kanji for Tokyo, without the prefix 'Mega' in front of them.

A faint and fading window on a different world.

A world where GENOM was just another company. A world where nobody thought that one day soon, the city would be razed to the ground and ripped in two. Hmm… weird. I mused on that as I crossed the platform, passing a patch of new cabling that powered the overhead lights. There were a few more additions, such as the changing rooms in the old ticket booth, some workbenches for the hardsuits and Sylia's mainframe computer sitting in racks installed under an old ventilation shaft, but it was still an old subway station. It was still cold and draughty, and it still smelled of damp rubbish, ozone and axle grease.

A small giddy thrill ran through my body, anticipating another jaunt in a hardsuit. It was my job, it was my life, it was terrifying, it was heartbreaking to be 30 seconds too late, it was _exhilarating_ when we weren't_._

The break room was built into the former station-master's office, and had everything needed for mission briefings including comfortable sofas, plush carpeting, interactive city maps, 2 computer terminals, a coffee table loaded with cakes, sandwiches and tea, and a decent SuperDef projector and screen. All appointed in soothing pastel pinks, sky blues and summer-evening beiges. A vase of plastic flowers added some organic colour to the room along with a few lingerie and clothes catalogues, while a cabinet with a selection of firearms reminded of its real purpose.

The smell of freshly baked scones and hot butter inside was mouth watering.

"Of course they killed her, and they're going to get away with it too… they _always _do."

Nice to see Priss was her usual cheerful self. The biker had monopolised a couch all to herself, putting her booted feet up on the cushions.

Linna sighed pensively, sloshing the tea in her cup, watching the reflections of the overhead lights dancing in the liquid. "Hmmm... I really don't know. It could be an accident."

"It can't be, why else would Sylia call us here so soon after? Unless she thought _something_ was up… " She glanced up through her fringe, " Hey Meg."

Linna acknowledged me behind her with a gentle wave, her mind elsewhere. I dropped onto the couch beside her, as far from Priss as it was possible to be, and still be sitting in comfort. The blue Saber was never that comfortable around me, we certainly weren't what you'd call friends… not in the same way as I was with Linna and Nené anyway.

At best, we were colleagues… we trusted each other to do their respective jobs, and that was that.

"Irene wrote me a few weeks ago… she said she was looking forward to going on tour with her sister. She just got her life back on track after what GENOM did. And now this… "

Priss mused on that, along with the deep mysteries of the scone in her hands.

"That's what they do. They might not kill you, but they'll still take your life,… sons of bitches."

She was staring hard at a point on the far wall, stony gaze drilling through wallpapered plasterboard. A damp, dark despair fill the air for a moment, before being burned away with a hot blast of anger.

"I just hope Irene's okay… " I chipped my own match into what my senses were telling me was a petrol filled bucket of emotion.

"DHK says she wasn't on the plane, just Reika and Kou," Linna said, quietly, "I was going to fax her when I got home later tonight. Accident or not, she needs her friends at a time like this, and not those media vultures who only know her for her sister and not the tape they refused to air."

Compared to the explosive Priss, Linna's anger smouldered under the surface.

"Well Linna, the pointy-haired suit responsible's in for a world of hurt when we're through with him."

I nodded, pondering quietly to myself. I saved Irene's life, only for her sister to die. Stupid fucking butterfly. And if some GENOM executive was angling for Mason's job by trying to tie up his loose ends… If he wanted Mason's job he could have all the perks that went along with it, including free ante-mortem cremation.

And if it was an accident?... I knew well enough that a drunk driver at the wrong moment was just as dangerous as a GENOM executive with designs on power and scruples to shock your average Bond villain. The only thing crueller than Blofeld was fate…

If it was an accident, it was a tragedy. Made a little closer by it being a relative of a friend, but still distant enough, like all TV tragedies. It was saddening… nothing more. I still wanted to hug Irene… I had no idea what to say to her. Even though my senses informed me of people's moods, warning me when speaking might be a bad idea, they would never tell me what to say. I was never very good at that part myself, but a smile and a warm embrace from a sexaroid could do far more than a few kind words ever did.

Linna considered what Priss had said, mulling it over.

"I don't think Irene would want that. She told me once… when we were talking about her fiancé… that any sort of revenge would only perpetuate the cycle," a breath, "That was why she left her family in the first place."

"You never know what you'll do when pushed," Priss said.

"I hope she's okay,"

Linna sighed once more. That's all that could be said. I might've chipped in with something along the lines of 'I'm sure she would be', but I swallowed those words with a mouthful of scone. Best to say nothing… nothing never hurt anyone.

"Any good news, anyone?" requested the dancer.

I thought back to my conversation with Nené… and decided I didn't have any news at all that fitted the criteria. A few mobsters getting their regular pound of flesh, and Nené coming to the conclusion that I was a former Yakuza sex-toy weren't anything like what most people would call good news. There was that kitten on the radio…

"I have an old friend in the States who's getting married soon," said Priss, after a moment's consideration.

"Congratulations to her," I smiled. Not the sort of thing I'd ever do, but still warming nonetheless.

"Yeah, congratulations," chipped Linna in, "A wedding. Can you just imagine what it's like to be a bride?"

"No," answered one woman and one sexaroid. "Not really."

"A flowing white dress, flowers in hand... real ones with _actual_ fragrance. A tall, man in a black tuxedo, broad of shoulder and strong in arm... and the trouser department" she added with a girlish snigger.. "He turns to face you as the organ pipes, music rising in the old stone church and you start down the aisle. The sun strikes through the stained windows and reminds you that this is _your_ day and yours alone... "

She was clearly losing herself in the fantasy.

"You will be Christmas cake, Linna," decreed Priss. "To get married you have to keep a boyfriend for longer than 4 weeks."

"Shuttup!" Linna snapped back, matrimonial fantasies lying shattered on the floor. "I still have 5 years to go. I just need to settle is all."

The pointing finger showed just how deadly serious she was about that. I joined in the laughter.

"I not do want to get married." Normally, 33-S _broke up_ marriages... unless the couple involved were more progressive.

"Me neither," Priss agreed. "Too much hassle."

Yup. I knew as much from experience, and was glad I'd been relieved of evolutionary duties the moment I'd left the human race. Dealing with people was significantly less complicated when I didn't have millennia of evolution getting in the way.

Linna clenched her fist in determination, "Someday it'll be worth it, to find a real prince."

"_Some day my prince will come,"_ I teased, singing from Snow White, _"And away to his castle we'll go To be happy forever I know."_

Both women blanked... neither twigging the reference. People in this decade were woefully uneducated about some things.

It was another ten minutes or so before Sylia and Nené showed up, the pink Saber still looking a little sleepy. As soon as the message had come through, she'd ran home to try sleep her drink off. She hadn't had too much... just a few glasses, nothing excessive by any stretch.

Nené dropped onto the couch, between Linna and myself, still wearing her winter jacket, while Sylia made great care to make sure her own weighty winter coat was properly hung... it was made of fur too expensive to be sat on all day.

"I'm sorry we're a little late, but seeing as we're all here, let's get started."

Already, Nené was murdering the food on offer. Sylia was busying herself with the projector, while Priss was muttering something about fire into Linna's ear, which Linna didn't seem too pleased about to hear.

"About 5 hours ago," continued Sylia, as the projector began to whir to life, "I received a phone call from one of my contacts who had been approached by a representative of Zone Corporation."

"Not Kyuusei, the Hou-bang?"

The biker was practically on her feet.

"No Priss, I haven't heard anything from them... " an almost pause... "I contacted them shortly after the news broke, our contact within the Hou-Bang didn't answer." And I could tell that she didn't understand why they weren't answering either.

Priss stood there for a second, processing the information.

"They think they're under attack."

"We still don't know," Linna jumped in, "Just wait until it's confirmed."

"Confirmed? What happened?" questioned Nené, still sitting squarely out of the loop.

"Reika Chang was killed," I told her, "Plane Crash."

"Oh.." the penny dropped, "The Bastards!"

I nodded. "Don't know if an accident yet."

"This isn't our concern right now," Sylia held her hand up to put a stop to it. It was obvious however, that she was a lot more concerned by it than she let on. "We have a job to do here right now. If the Hou-Bang have need to hire us, then they will."

Priss wore a look like she was about to snap Sylia's head off.

"Sylia's right," Linna cut her off softly, wearing a pacifying smile. She placed a hand on her friend's shoulder, "If Irene doesn't want revenge, then who are we to force it on her, to drag her into a fight that she doesn't want?"

Priss closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath through her teeth, "I still don't like doing nothing, Irene is a friend."

That was Priss in a nutshell.

"Well, if we can all be seated again, we'll continue." A quick click on the remote control in Sylia's hand brought the first image up on screen. A happy family… husband, wife and three children, two girls and a boy.

Back to business, we had a job to do.

"This is our client, Zone Corporation chairman Micheal Moriarty," she highlighted the man, bringing his image to the foreground. He was the picture of modern entrepreneurial success… sharp suit, clean-cut features and a pure camera-friendly smile. "And this is his family; His wife Ichiko Yoshida Moriarty, a client of mine actually," A demure young Japanese woman, almost as tall as her husband, wearing a matching ladies' suit, "And their three children. Twin daughters Kodama and Nozomi," teenaged mirrors of their mother forcing a smile for the camera in their summer dresses, "and finally their son, Micheal Junior," a boy about 4-6 years old…

"How cute in his little suit," Nené gushed.

"About 3 days ago, they along with their mother were kidnapped, while being dropped off at school. Their vehicle was hijacked outside Kiiroi Hi Senior High School." A file photograph of the school from it's website, "There were multiple witnesses among the student body, who have given statements to the national Police. The case was then escalated to the ADPolice, based on reports of boomer involvement."

A sharp, collective draw of breath… already, ideas were flickering through Nené's mind.

"A ransom demand was made, to the amount of 100 million yen per hostage, amounting to a total of 400 million yen. Notably, Zone Corporation itself is currently attempting to evade a takeover bid by GENOM. The ransom demand exactly matches a golden handshake payment GENOM offered to Mr. Moriarty two days prior the kidnapping. Mr. Moriarty does not believe this to be a coincidence, and neither do I. The kidnappers have demanded payment by midnight on Sunday, at which time they will kill the hostages."

A brief pause.

"Motherfucker!"

Priss eloquently summed up what the opinions of the entire room.

"We know from experience that GENOM Corporation will not hesitate to make good on this threat," Sylia concluded.

Well, that was a whole new class of evil, wasn't it? Children… bloody children… the thoughts of failing this mission had my stomach tying itself in knots. And we could _easily_ fail this mission. I knew it had happened before… but it was something I'd had the good sense to keep stumm about so I didn't know any details.

"So where do we start?" I broke the silence.

"I can check up the investigation in work tomorrow. Getting the files would be a piece of cake. I start shift at nine am, I can get them by ten," Nené was first out of the gate.

"Good," commented Sylia with an approving nod, "Try find the GPS logs for the hijacked car, the kidnappers might have forgotten to disable it. We'll need to talk to the school administration aswell, they're bound to have footage of the incident."

And thus, the Knight Sabers swung into action.

"I can do that," Priss raised her hand.

"You need to have a reason for being there, they don't just let people walk in off the streets," Linna pointed out the flaw. "Adult education program?"

"Worried parent trying to get info?" I chipped in.

"Hah, I think I'm too young for that to work," the singer laughed my suggestion off. "Maybe in 20 years I'd look old enough to pull that off."

It was easy to forget that Priss was only 19 sometimes.

"Linna, Meg, talk to local store owners and see what you can dig up. Don't be afraid to say that you're private investigators, or offer remuneration in exchange for information either."

"Right," the dancer nodded, "We'll try follow the kidnappers by word of mouth."

"The ADPolice would've done that already," the group's resident copper pointed out the flaw in the plan. "Whatever they found will be in the investigation files."

"True, but at the very least we will confirm the Police investigation. We may also turn up something the police missed… we don't need warrants to get our information."

There was only so fast the police could work, and still be working within the law. The gears of justice ground slowly. The only reason they were even on this case was because of how brazenly public the kidnapping was… from what I'd gathered, normally this sort of thing would be handled discretely by the corporation itself, usually by hiring outside mercenaries…

Like the Knight Sabers.

Today was Tuesday. We had 5 days to rescue the children. But, if we didn't find them by Saturday, we would have no chance to set up the rescue. And on top of legwork, we still had to keep our day jobs.

To cut a long story short, the job would go like this. Who? Where? What? How?

First, find the car if possible. If we get lucky and the enemy had gotten stupid, this might lead us to them, but it probably wouldn't. Nené would dump the information from the ADPolice investigation to Sylia's terminal at about the same time. They'd probably done a lot of the same work, but it wouldn't hurt to confirm it… they might also have missed something crucial.

Second, we find out who we're dealing with, that would give us an idea of the quality of enemy we were facing, GENOM wasn't likely to have done this itself, they farm out most of the nitty gritty of their evils to sub-contractors. With a bit of luck we can then turn 'who' into 'where', but that depends on who we're dealing with. A lot of this was Nené's work, since a lot of it's online.

Once we have where, then comes the 'what'. What sort of building are the hostages in? What is guarding them? Finally comes 'how', how do we get the hostages out safely?

"Remember, we don't have 5 days to find the children, we have 5 days to _rescue _them. If we don't find where they are being kept by Saturday afternoon, then it will be difficult to plan an extraction in time," Sylia concluded. "We start tomorrow at 8am."

Nobody disagreed. Nobody complained about the early morning start. This was our job, and we wanted to make bloody well sure we did it right. Especially with children involved... that was _not_ something I wanted on my conscience.

Priss checked her watch. "It's only half nine, if I hurry, I can still make my concert start time."

21:36:22 according to my own time...

"I might still get back to work in time not to be missed."

2 hours could be explained easy enough... I hoped.

**I... I**

I strolled through the front doors at was waiting.

"I had to help friend home, someone spike her drink," I explained. "She could barely think straight, not even take taxi safe."

He stroked his chin for a moment... considering...

"That's getting to be a real problem lately, isn't it?"

I needed to think of a better excuse next time.

**I... I**

A cool drizzle fell all morning, grey skies hanging low over the city like a blanket, shrouding the tops of the skyscrapers in veils of mist. A soft day, just in that sweetspot where the rain manages to cool, but not get you soaking wet. The first fingers of a winter chill were rolling in off the bay, November closing down on the world.

It was a good day for a short walk through the city.

Not for a long one.

Hidden behind my amber sunglasses, wearing cheap jeans and a denim jacket, I was about as anonymous as it was possible for a sex boomer to be. Anonymous for a sexaroid meant that people weren't staring… just glancing.

6 months ago, it creeped me out… each pair of eyes like little hairy caterpillars crawling across my body. Now, they were just a fact of life. I really was nothing like the person I was when I got here… and I didn't mean the body.

Not entirely.

It was complicated, and never something I gave much thought to, despite how often my thoughts tried to veer in that direction. Was I the same person inside, just with a different shell? Was I a different person entirely? I was sick to death of those questions.

I was a 33-S. I looked in the mirror and everything felt right… as it should be. I was programmed with a human's memories. I knew they were programmed in… ghost dubbing, the process is called… it was banned 3 years ago. I knew they where my memories, the same as I knew I was a 33-S. I knew they were copies.

The philosophical ramifications were maddening. Copied memories? Continuity of being? That was for Ghost in the Shell, not Bubblegum Crisis. And this wasn't an animé…

And if I had 5 yen for every time I had to remind myself of that, I might even have been moderately wealthy. They were stupid questions. I called them pointless questions. They still nagged at me, despite me wishing they wouldn't. I was myself, that was the right answer… That was the answer it took Shinji Ikari 26 episodes of Evangelion to realise… but like an annoying teacher, some small part of my brain decided to demand I show my work, rather than just writing the answer on the page.

"I'm starting to get jealous," a pouting Linna brought welcome relief. "All those men staring at you, and you don't even have the courtesy to enjoy it."

I liked being able to sense people's moods from their pheromones. It removed the ambiguity from social situations.

"What does rich man care about a single 5 yen coin when he have trillions?"

"Hmmph," she folded her arms across her chest. "Hollow riches. A single coin gives more satisfaction to us poor people, than a trillion Yen does to the wealthy." I was surprised she'd understood that. I thought I'd mangled the metaphor. "It's nice to wake up with someone beside you in the morning and know that he's there for you, and only you."

As she had done this very morning… I could tell... she had that distinct pheromone glow to her. A pang of loneliness bit deeper than I'd expected. I could have anyone in the world for a one night fling, but it'd never be anything more than lust. To put that into a human perspective, imagine the whole world wanting to shake your hand… They'd smile, they'd do it as many times as you let them, but they'd still only ever shake your hand.

The only human I'd ever met who didn't seem to be affected by my nature was Sylia… neither of us had any interest whatsoever in each other... and she'd kill me if I tried.

At least I had friends... good friends. Only good friends.

What a wonderful way to mire myself in a bad mood for the rest of the day.

"What's the next shop?" I deliberately changed topics

"6/6 convenience store on Sonoda and 21st... about 5 minutes away."

12:34:22 according to my clock. We'd been at it for 4 hours already... 5 minutes coming to the conclusion that a bunch of pimply faced teenagers would tell us anything so long as they could keep staring at my chest, the rest taken up with knocking on doors hoping for an answer inside, then wrangling with whoever was inside to get at the CCTV tapes they might have.

We'd been at it long enough to get into a routine.

Linna rang to doorbell, stabbing it with her finger when it didn't ring the first time… tried again after a few seconds' wait with no answer… tried one last time with enough force to jam the button in place for a few seconds… before giving in and rapping frustratingly on the glass door with her knuckles.

I tried not to laugh.

"We're closed!" an irritated voice answered through a tin speaker mounted to the doorframe, roused unwillingly from slumber. " Cantcha read the signs, or can you _gaijin_ not even read Katakana?"

I couldn't tell if the owner was male or female, just that they were elderly, old Japanese, and right royally pissed off. As a matter of fact, I could read katakana… just about… I could read the sign on the door well enough to know that the owner was a member of the Japan National Defence League… the world's most polite racists.

"We're private investigators, not customers. We're Kei and Yuri, from the 3WC."

Yes, the World Wide Web consortium… It had been my turn to choose the aliases and I got them mixed up. The joke was known only to me of course. As usual.

"I'm Kei," I introduced myself to a security camera, "And she's Yuri."

The lens buzzed as it zoomed in, taking a closer look at the pair standing by the doo. Maybe I was going too far with it… maybe. Linna shot me a sour glare for a moment, wondering what was going over her head.

"Investigating what?" the speaker enquired.

"A kidnapping," the dancer answered, "Three children and their mother."

"I've already talked to the Always Dying" the disembodied voice snapped back. 'Always Dying' being a dysphemism for the ADP, "… twice. I ain't talking about it again."

"Not again," I whispered under my breath. "Are these people directing us to their neighbours, then phoning ahead to spread the bribes around?"

Linna shrugged, "Hope they aren't."

"We will _compensate_ any worthwhile information, of course," I offered, loading my voice with canned lust. I had only basic feminine appeal to rely on, sexaroid abilities not translating well across a digital link. It might work, it might not… there'd be water if God willed it.

"What kind of _compensation_?"

I'd skewed the word just enough to suggest something other than money would be offered. The look Linna was giving me told me that if he took that offer up, she'd leave me to it.

"We can discuss that in _private._"

Another loaded word, leaving plenty of room for interpretation. Let the human mind do most of the work. Just leave the door open, and they'll walk right through of their own accord.

"I'm in my office in back. Push the door."

The lock on the door opened with a little plastic snick, intercom panel going dead simultaneously. Linna entered first and I followed, being tracked by the camera all the way in. Never bet against human nature… the woman leading me through the empty store didn't like it, but it worked. Six months had changed me… a lot.

All the signage inside was in standard Japanese… a mixture of kanji, hiragana, katakana and a counting system designed purposefully to confuse any newcomers to the island nation, especially those like myself limited to the _Gaigo_ speech… a new Japanese dialect usually spoken by formerly romance-speaking immigrants from either Europe or the States. The word _Gaigo_ itself was a pun on _Gaijin_ and the Japanese word for the English language.

I could make out maybe half the product descriptions, and some of the prices… I gave up on ever comprehending the Japanese number system, taking the _Gaigo _route of calling out the individual digits. _Ichi-Shi-Ni-San_ was far easier to understand and get right than mucking about with hundreds and thousands and numbers of tens.

Most people just accepted it as consequence of boomtime immigration; JNDL members considered it a profane debasement of the purity of the Japanese language.

"I'll talk to him, I _am_ a native after all, he's more likely to listen to me."

The gender of the stores owner having been more or less established by his reaction to my voice.

"You are native," I deferred with an unconcerned shrug.

We complimented each other well… she could handle the natives who wouldn't speak English, I could handle the newcomers who couldn't speak Japanese.

"In here," the owner's voice called out, muffled by an office door. The lights were still on, the shop only closed for lunch. A pair of boomers mopping up a mess in one of the aisles didn't seem to mind us as we walked past.

The office was spartan at best, being home to little more than a cheap desk, cheap chair, a computer that had probably been new in 2010 and enough filing cabinets to store a couple of decades' worth of records on paper. The harddisk inside the PC rattled nervously through bytes of data, mirroring my own feelings.

On the wall behind the owner was his JNDL membership certificate, proudly displayed. The man himself… well into his sixties with grey eyes hidden by a neatly trimmed matching fringe was glaring daggers at me through his eyes. A Caucasian? And a strange looking one to boot? He stood up.

"Yoshiyuki Okawara," he bowed lightly.

"Yuri," Linna bowed deeper, "and Kei."

Simultaneously, she made it clear that our names were aliases, while I made clear just how few of the niceties of Japanese culture I understood by smiling at him.

"Well, what is it you two 'Lovely Angels' want?"

What he wanted was for us to get the hell out of there so he could finish his lunch in peace. The atmosphere was leaden with irritation and annoyance, the very air itself acting as an immune response against me, anger filled hormones willing me to leave.

"We would like to have a look at your surveillance camera footage from four days ago please, if it is not too much inconvenience. We are investigating the kidnapping of three children and their mother."

Linna followed the rules of keigo to the letter, as only a native could. Yoshi' stroked his chin, a few wiry strands of hair from his beard coiling around his fingers. He was acting like he was considering it, when all he was considering was how much he could extort from us. His eyes traced a path down my body…

"Of course," I blinked. Well… that was a surprise. It showed on both our faces. "There are children involved. What sort of foreign rat would demand money in a situation like this? It would be shameful."

Of all the people we'd talked to… the man we'd expected to extort as much as possible out of us, hadn't even thought twice about helping. We'd hit 13 shops, bars and restaurants… he was the first not to ask for any sort of payment.

"Thank you very much, sir," Linna bowed once more.

"Well, follow me, I'll show you where the tapes are stored. I'll try run off a copy for you two Lovely Angels as well"

Yoshi knew where our aliases had come from, it was obvious.

Still, his hatred of me simmered beneath the surface, squashed under years of social graces. The man led us through the store, through a back storeroom where another boomer was taking stock.

Strange… after the conversation through the intercom, I'd expected we'd be squeezed for every last yen. What the hell was the purpose of it? Was he just gauging us, how serious we were? Or was he just trying to give the hated foreigner a hard time He did hate me… though he smothered it beneath a blanket of tradition-demanded politeness, I represented everything he stood against.

Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. People would always do their best to be confusing. That was also human nature.

Linna nudged me in the side with her elbow.

"Traditional politeness and a proper introduction can be just as useful as a pair of D-cups and a smile," she whispered haughtily.

I pouted like an irritated schoolgirl. She's just jealous. I reasoned. That was also a facet of human nature. And so was self righteous conceit… More human than human, one of GENOM's taglines for the 30-series biomimetics.

He led us to another room, itself hidden in the stockroom. Shelves lined 2 walls, stacked higher than me with archived 'tapes'… ranging from ancient VHS, up to almost modern solid-state storage. He pulled a recent one from the shelf, after barely a moment's glance, and handed it to Linna, purposely ignoring my presence.

Or ignoring me as much as was humanly possible, given that the air was thick with the pheromones my body naturally gave off. Linna was just plain used to it enough to be able to filter the distraction out.

"This cassette has a copy of the last two weeks on it, it will have what you're looking for, Miss Yuri."

"Thank you very much, sir," Linna bowed once more.

"Thanks," I smiled, earning a sharp glare for my troubles.

"I'm sure you both can show yourselves out," – don't let the door catch your ass on the way out, gaijin.

He didn't say that last part. I didn't doubt for a second he was thinking it. We left the shop quickly, moving on, building momentum. We'd well settled into the algorithm.

10: Enter Shop[index]  
20: Question ().  
30: Leave Shop [index].  
40:Increment index.  
50: GoTo 10 all over again.

The traditional corporate lunch hour brought a new bustle to the streets, making our jobs harder. We had to battle with suited salarymen and sailor-uniformed schoolgirls for attention. Naturally, just about everyone we wanted to talk to was more interested in dealing with paying customers than two weird women going by obvious aliases looking to take up time that could be best used making money from the paying customers.

Sometimes we were quietly asked to leave… other times, less quietly. And still, that JNDL shop owner bugged me...

"Some old people are still in a bit of a culture shock… they come from a time before the immigration of the last decade." Explained Linna, "They're a little more… _conservative_ than modern people… They expect to be addressed properly."

"I don't know how," I said, "Always thought it was too complicated anyway."

"A little can go a long way. Don't westerners have a saying? When in Rome, do as the Romans?"

"Hmmm… "

"And it's better than just trading on sexuality. Didn't you once tell me you wanted people to like you for your personality, not your body?"

A quick thought… That had been months ago! I _had_ said that. But back then I had been a different person… still homesick, still testing the local waters, still exploring my abilities and how far I could safely push them without getting caught.

And it was true…

"Hmmm… body opens the door, personality brings me through."

I think she'd said something like that at the time.

"I think I said something like that… " she held her finger to her lip, thinking back to a conversation I'd been surprised either of us had remembered. "It's still a bad idea, someone might try to take what you're offering, whether you want to actually give it or not."

And I could handle that… I thought… I was built to handle it. When accessing the undocumented API's of the human brain… like with a computer… there was always the risk of tweaking something the wrong way, or that bit too far. And like a computer when it hangs, I could hard power cycle a human being's brain if they started to get out of control… knock 'em out, then let them reset themselves over the space of about a half hour.

None of which I could explain to Linna since even for a boomeroid, having a feature like that was a capital offence. The reason why should be obvious.

"I can handle that." was all I said.

"Are you sure?"

Are you sure you want to call down the wrath of Murphy, Meg?

"I don't push it very far."

I could feel his cold hand resting on my shoulder. But it was the truth. Day to day, I barely scratched the surface of what I knew I could do. The same rules still applied as much as when I'd first arrived in the city… push things too far too often, and people ask dangerous questions. Or almost as bad… my good name gets dragged through the dirt.

"I've seen how you dress at work, y'know… "

"That's different. It's expected. And it helps me cool off when it gets hot at night."

"At the expense of heating everyone up," she giggled.

"Yup. Laws of thermodynamics and all that." I smiled back, grateful for the change in mood.

I made the time as 13:10:28

"Time for one more before I have to work," I said, feigning checking my watch… which was five minutes fast.

"I can go for another two hours, then I have late shift," she told me, "Then Sylia wants us to get together to review what Nené's dredged up from the ADP investigation… and compare it to what we're hearing."

"I doubt we're hearing much different."

I knew better… but it still felt like a waste of time. The former engineer within me railed against the idea of repeating work that had already been done. I had to keep convincing myself that confirming the details of the ADP investigation was a good thing. Finding details for ourselves the police were playing extremely close to their chest, even better again… that had been a lesson well learned.

"Information is ammunition, Meg."

"Yup," I nodded, "Next place?"

It might be tedious, but it's necessary.

**I... I**

Work was work. Every day was different. Every day was the same that way. The band weren't that good… what they lacked in skill they tried make up for in sheer loudness. They weren't even worth bittorrenting. People blamed the boomer behind the bar, despite her having nothing at all to do with the booking of bands.

I went home at the usual late hour, deciding to go straight to bed. Saber business in the morning required a clear head. My thoughts lingered on the day, on the shop owner, what Linna had said about politeness, and trading on my body… was I pushing it too far? If Linna was warning me about it? How many people were muttering behind my back?

Distant explosions rattled the night. The ADPolice were having fun. My Saber watch was still on my wrist. We might've had a job going, but the cops could still need our help.

Morning came, breakfast television announcing the latest news from the city. Someone, sore about losing his job months earlier, had stolen a garbage truck and smashed it through his old boss's office. The boomer incident made the news… as property damage only.

It was a media-driven myth that the ADP were incompetent… it wasn't skill they were light on, it was proper equipment, and the political will to use it when they did have it. Fighting rogue builder-boomers was relatively easy in a hardsuit… fighting those same steel giants with only a flak vest and an armour-piercing battlerifle?

It was something I'd done once… when I'd just joined the Sabers… getting a pair of nine inch nails through the chest wasn't something I wanted to repeat.

Thursday on the whole was a repeat of Wednesday, with Priss turning the Dirty Pair into a triumvirate. I got us through the door, while Linna and Priss played off each other in a pseudo-good-cop bad-cop routine that had taken a lot of practice to perfect.

Sylia was pouring through the ADP files, but the word so far was mixed. And sometimes, when you were trying to keep a low profile, having a mildly famous club singer in your midst could cause problems.

"Priss-san! Priss-san! Will you sign an autograph?"

The fan was insistent.

"Shit," Priss swore under her breath, as Linna and I enjoyed a giggle. To her credit, she signed his photograph with a smile.

The fan never knew how much it irritated her to be bothered in the street, instead barraging her with a stream of "I love your shows and your Hurricane song and I downloaded all your bootlegs… " I sniggered at that one. Priss gaze hardened. "… And I'm just so glad I could meet you, I really hope you make it big… "

"Thanks… I guess… "

What she wouldn't have given for him to just fuck off. Another good reason to never be famous was the fans. We moved on, our search ending at a vacant lot 7 miles from the school where the family minivan had been abandoned… The car had been recovered by the police, but there were still tyre tracks in the dirt, fenced off by yellow tape. The last few bits of information were the tapes of the family being roughly bundled into the back of an armoured van…

"It was reported hijacked a week ago from Paxton security," Sylia told us later, "… an independent company with few links to GENOM."

A few hours later, and we'd all met up back at the drawer to collect and collate, to cross reference and verify. The truck was the hook. It was the little dangling thread we could latch onto and tug, unravelling the whole plot.

Taking the hostages in broad daylight in front of witnesses at first glance might not seem smart… it involved the cops from the start… but it was logical when you considered one thing. Where else could you guarantee a mother and her children would go on a daily basis, but school? That told us that this was well planned, and that whoever had planned it was smart enough to know when to break the traditional rules, as much as when to follow them. This suggested they had experience.

This told Sylia to look for past kidnappings of a similar sort, and who had been behind them.

Hijacking the victim's car, rather than bundling them into another vehicle at the scene demonstrated their experience. It was a faster getaway, and it delayed the cops who first had to find the victim's car where it had been dumped, then start tracking whatever truck they'd been transferred to. It was the truck that would take the victims to where they would be held, before the truck itself would be dumped, destroyed or dunked in the bay.

The truck was stolen. It wasn't just any old truck either, but an armoured one. Video footage showed it was the same boomers who'd committed the kidnapping. That was their big mistake. The hijacking had been reported to the ADPolice, who'd opened an investigation.

"The ADPolice believes it was a Yakuza job. Three organisations were suspected of involvement, only one of which has a recent history of kidnappings matching the MO of our perpetrators." And that was? "Nené, if you will… "

Sylia yielded the spotlight to MegaTokyo's cutest information warrior, leaving the rest of us hanging in suspense. Just get on with it, I willed.

Nené herself was still in her uniform, standing upright and official as she switched the projector over to a still image of the hijacking.

"Well," she started, drawing a deep breath to centre itself. Priss twirled a finger through her own hair, wordlessly demanding she hurry up, "The kidnapping case itself is being handled by Le… Detective McNichol, so a lot of the really sensitive information is being kept out of the database."

Nené wasn't the only leak in the ADP.

"Is that your boyfriend," Linna whispered in Priss' ear.

"Shuttup, " she snapped back, "I wanna hear this."

I giggled into my hand, Sylia glared and Nené pouted at the interruption to her carefully planned presentation. She harrumphed, tapping her foot on the carpet.

"As I was saying," the cop continued, leaving the 'before I was so rudely interrupted' for the rest of us to fill in for ourselves, "Leon doesn't store his casefiles in the main database, so I had to be a bit more _creative_… " and obviously quite proud of what she did "… at getting them. The truck-jacking was, so that was easy enough. Then it was just a matter of cross-referencing the suspect list for the truck crime, with a list of Yakuza organisations who've committed similar kidnappings… " she repeated what Sylia had said, "And I managed to pull up our suspect and confirm it within Leon's database. Our suspect is the Sanshiki-gumi."

"Oh shit!" Everyone turned to me. "They handle the insurance for Hot Legs."

"Really?" Sylia's eyebrow rose.

Coincidence. Sometimes, the world seemed to run on it.

"Yeah, they're better than GENOM," And that was the only explanation I was giving, despite Nené looking about as thrilled with it as she had been on Tuesday.

Sylia, never one to let idealism get in the way of practicality, filed that tidbit of information away for future reference.

Nené rifled through a few slides, before settling on a picture stolen from the ADPolice archives. A potato-faced middle aged man getting out of a Toyota Century, flanked by two of the most improbably beautiful women I'd seen outside of a mirror.

"This is _Kurisu Obasutorīto_, the local leader who's believed to be behind similar kidnappings in the past. He is based out of a _Gentleman's Club… " _the euphemism made Nené wince, "… in District 4, the_ Buburagamu Pinku._"

I blew a synapse trying not to laugh.

"Most of their secure systems seem to be islanded from the net, so the only way to get the information we want is to gain access to the physical machine. Leon applied for a search warrant, but it will take the courts at least 2 days to process it. That means the earliest possible time they could raid is Saturday… thanks to the corporate privacy act. On top of that, there's interrogation and data forensics… "

So, right at the limit. If we didn't have a location for the family by mid-Saturday, our odds of success dropped off a cliff.

"Can you be certain McNichol will wait?" queried Sylia, "As I understand he has a reputation as quite the cowboy, the sort who would prefer get official permission after the act."

Nené nodded, "He's probably planning something but he'll keep it within his old squad, word of mouth only to people he trusts."

"He trusts you?"

"Yeah Sylia, but I'm technically assigned to a different case. I could try get moved, but that takes time to sort out, so it won't be until after the raid if it happens."

"Do it anyway."

"We know where this place is, we can hit it ourselves."

"If you want a date with your boyfriend, Priss, I'm sure there're easier ways to get one."

"Linna," Sylia cut in sharply, "Priss is right, we have to raid the place ourselves, before the police."

"Hardsuits?" I asked, "Especially if they have boomers."

"Too obvious. We can't risk destroying the evidence the police are looking for, or revealing our involvement to the kidnappers before we mount a rescue operation."

"So it's infiltration then," Linna exhaled nervously, shivers running through her body at the thoughts of it. She'd rather have gone for a swim in the municipal sewer system.

The only question was; who got to enter the lair of the devil? Nené was curling up into herself, while Linna crossed her arms resolutely determined it wouldn't be her. Priss was weighing her options, while Sylia waited.

Fuck it. It's just a bloody strip club. There're worse cesspools in the city… some of them filled with 'respectable' people. Take a deep breath, dive in and wear as many layers as possible. It wouldn't be the first time any of us'd had to go scratching around in the city's underbelly.

Priss had decided.

"I'll do it." I beat her to the punch.

It wouldn't be my first time doing one of these. The part of me that had once been human was trying to punch its way out of my stomach and flee in shame from what it had just been signed up for. The part of me that hadn't noted that I was the best Saber for the job. And not because I was a sexaroid.

Okay, not just because I was a sexaroid.

"Me too, it's better with both of us in there if it goes South," said Priss, flashing me a hard smile. "Especially since you don't carry, do you, Meg?"

"No," I shook my head.

"Pretty dumb if you ask me, especially going into a place like that. Everyone will be packing."

"I don't want a gun, it might get used. Chekov's law," I smirked. I wasn't joking. It applied as much in life, as in fiction.

Only cops and criminals carried guns in Megatokyo. This wasn't America, in general people didn't arm themselves for protection on the off-chance someone might just try and mug them today. Nobody in this city carried a gun, unless they were intending to use it. Going in there armed automatically labelled me as a troublemaker at the very least, or an undercover cop at the worst. Neither would be very welcome in a Yakuza bar. Being armed could get me shot.

And anyways, I had my own methods of self defence; ones that had a far lower chance of being fired back at me.

"Good," nodded Sylia, "Standard procedure then. Meg take entry. Priss on backup with Mackie in the Silky Wagon. Linna, take overwatch with myself in our hardsuits. Nené… "

"I'm on early shift tomorrow," she said.

Sylia nodded, "… watch the police band, getting caught up in a raid won't help us," Getting arrested in a police raid certainly wouldn't help _me_. "Anyone disagree?"

Silence.

"Meg's going alone?"

"Yes, Priss."

Priss didn't sit easy with that. Normally, missions like this were done in pairs. What was Sylia doing? I could see her turning it over in her mind, trying to figure it out, throwing me an aside glance.

If there had been hair on the back of my neck, I might've felt it stand on end beneath her gaze. Those red eyes could be terrifying.

Sylia's reason why related to my cover… someone looking for a job at the place… but I sensed those eyes understood there was more to it than simply a quick coverstory. I pushed any fears of discovery out of my mind. It was just paranoia. I was reading too much into things.

There was more to be worked out… rendezvous points, codewords to be used if I was in trouble and a story for the police if the worst happened. The basics were simple, but the devil was in the details. It took long enough that I was a little late getting into work again.

If it wasn't for the fact that takings rose noticeably when I was behind the bar, I might've been fired by now.

**I... I**

An efax was waiting for me when I got home.

From: "Saber Leader"

To: "Saber Yellow"

CC:-

Subject: Tomorrow.

_Meg_

_The reason I am sending you alone is as you expect. I want you to feel safe using your unique talents without fear of the others discovering your true nature. I feel they may be helpful in this sort of mission. If you feel more comfortable having backup however, just email me and I can change plans._

_Kind regards  
Sylia Stingray_

Those talents being my ability to manipulate and stun people, not my _other_ talents. I hoped. In a strip club.

_Buburagamu Pinku… Obasutorīto… _Sound it out. A funny way to get reminded that I wasn't a Megatokyo native. Whatever God runs the world has a screwy sense of humour alright…

Sweetling.

I slept on that thought. Barely.

-**I... I**

Friday morning, same routine as usual. Same porridge breakfast with same manufacturer mandated diet supplements to help with auto-maintenance. Same news on the radio, same slightly too hot water and slightly to low pressure. Same wardrobe... I picked my clothes carefully… as deliberately dull as possible. Just denim clothes and a pair of shades.

I ran through a few quick diagnostics… getting a few warnings about blood and lung contamination for the trouble. A few other little niggles came up but nothing serious, just the consequences of a machine designed for a sheltered environment living free in a dirty city.

A pair of earrings contained a miniature receiver, linked to a small microbead in one ear. A button on my collar was the microphone. I'd rejected Sylia's suggestion of fitting an internal comm-link a month ago… the less openings Nené had to hack my brain, the better.

The plan was simple enough. Linna and Sylia would be waiting on the roofs of surrounding buildings in their hardsuits. Priss would be outside in the Silkywagon, which would be driven by Mackie. They planned to arrive a few minutes before myself.

I'd travel on my own by train, go in alone, get the information quietly from whatever PC it was on, before getting the hell up out of dodge before the police showed up.

No problem.

I tapped a message to Sylia to let her know I was on my way, got the acknowledgment while waiting for the lift to arrive at my floor... and got halfway down to ground level before I realised I'd left my wallet and I.D. on my bed. Arse. Run up and get it, run back down, run to the station... miss the bloody train by about 30 seconds.

An omen for the day ahead?

I hoped not.

It took ten minutes for the next train to appear. Why did I even bother running? I took a TokyoMetro newspaper from a boomer handing them out, and hid behind it as best as I could..

Nothing about the kidnapping. Vision's death was still taking up pages. In the U.S., McClane looked to be edging out Gruber in the race to the White House, while the Soviet Union was reaching towards the red planet. A new metro line was being built, Aqua city was being demolished, a techwatch article predicted the exhaustion of IPV6 address space in a decade's time and GENOM was advertising boomer dogs to replace the real thing.

It made me think of my own dog for a moment, a distant shadow of loneliness washing over me. I couldn't get a dog, not when I lived in a kennel-sized apartment and wasn't even home for most of the day... it just wouldn't be fair on the poor thing. A boomer dog however? The irony made me smile. Artificial dog, artificial owner.

Expensive bloody things... nearly as much as my day job brought in a year.

Some schoolboys were ogling, while their girlfriends steadily got madder and madder. A security guard was chasing some tramp who'd skipped over the ticket barriers. A dry gust of wind whipped up the papers down in the track bed, followed by the train itself, riding a ghostly moan as its magnetic brakes brought it gliding to a halt. It sat for a moment, riding on a magnetic cushion, power transfer lines humming in a chorus that induced chilling currents throughout the metal in my body.

A torrent of people poured from the doors as they opened.

Another torrent surged aboard, sweeping me up. Someone grabbed a painful handful on the way in, earning an elbow to the face for their trouble. Rubbing my breast to cool the pain, I carved out a space in the centre of the carriage large enough to keep reading my paper. Someone was nattering away on their phone about her boyfriend.

I needed to centre my mind. There was work to be done. Working plan was to use my 'unique abilities' to stun someone, and give myself time to rifle through their files. Worst case scenario, I might have to use my 'unique talents' to do far more. Actually, worst case scenario, the last thing I see is burning nitrocellulose and a 9mm hollowpoint growing ever larger… sex was infinitely preferable to death.

What would the others think of me, if I played to the lowest common denominator? That's what really worried me… I liked my good reputation.

"Excuse me, miss," said a voice beside me.

It took me a few short moments to realise that, not only was the voice's owner speaking to me, but he was speaking clear, unaccented English.

"Yeah?"

A brown suited man wearing a fedora, past middle aged but not old, under 6ft but not short, stood beside me. His clear blue eyes shone like stars, reflecting the lights overhead, a bright smile was framed by a well trimmed goatee.

I didn't see him get on the train… but I hadn't really been paying attention to the crowd, either.

"Miss Megan Deckard, " he said, "My name is Ishmael, though I believe you may know me already."

No I didn't…

Wait… but that was just a… but…

"Oh Shit!"

Some of the locals glanced at me and snorted. Stupid Gaijin getting emotional when someone touches her. The first thing I did was look for the door, for all the good it would do me. Halfway between stations, and with about 20 people jammed like sardines between me and safety. My body went tense.

"Don't worry Miss Deckard", he reassured me, "I'm not here to take you anywhere."

"No Four Knights, no dragging me home?" I was still looking at the door, half on the verge of panicking, "I'm kinda busy right now."

Of all the things I could've been concerned about, I was worried about what would happen to the mission if I 'disappeared' en-route.

"No," he shook his head, "Three is enough, I'm not here to 'drag you home' either. You were brought here by Tet Corporation, correct?"

I nodded… Whatever he was bringing, I didn't want it. Whatever he was, I couldn't sense it. It might've been lost among the noise of the crowd in the carriage, but I just couldn't pull any pheromones off him. He was a black hole in the crowd, notable by his chemical silence.

"Tet Corporation are human allies of ours, on the side of the White… unruly allies admittedly but useful in their own way. They created you to be their own avatar here in this MegaTokyo, with the advantages of a human mind and an artificial body."

"Created?"

He nodded lightly, "Yes, and with some difficulty too. They believed that Brian J. Mason was under the influence of a dark artefact, something called a Bend of the Rainbow which a machine would be immune to."

"But Mason's dead," I pointed out the problem with that. Whatever he was being influenced by stopped mattering the moment he stopped breathing.

"Indeed, and he died much too easily for him to have been its master. Now Miss Deckard, I need to ask you a question" he pulled a white square of paper from his pocket, carefully unfolding it. A letter, I noticed, from Tet. It had their name printed on it, along with their distinctive thorny rose logo.

"On your mission against Mason, did you encounter this symbol?"

He held his finger against it. An eye printed in black ink, staring malevolently out from the surface of the paper. A single staring eye, with a single long lash.

It was… familiar.

I scanned through my memories of that night… of being pinned hard against a wall, breaking my shoulder. Of diving through into a lift shaft… Of the flames swallowing Mason in his black suit. His office, his desk, the DvD's…

"There was a wooden box," I said, "He kept it in his safe."

Ishmael thought, stroking his beard as he did so,

"And what was in the box?"

"A golden crystal ball, nothing more."

A dread chill overcame me. 'Nothing more' Famous last words Meg. I had the sudden, awful feeling that that ball might've been everything instead of being nothing.

"The Son of Maerlyn," said Ishmael, flatly. Or was it 'Sun'? If this was something to make him… some transdimensional omnipotent Meta-being thing… uneasy?

"What does that mean?"

I was terrified of the answer.

"There is a black shadow hanging over this city," said Ishmael, "And that ball may be part of it. It tried to have Mason wipe out the Knight Sabers. That is why Tet Corporation sent you here. It may be so that the shadow drove Mason into goading the Knight Sabers into action, ultimately killing him."

"What's this shadow?"

"It's known as The Red," he said, his voice as sombre as a tomb. "They seek to destroy all worlds, to return all to the chaos and nothingness from before creation itself. Reality can then be rebuilt in their image."

It wasn't a punch to the gut realisation, more a dreadful chill understanding running along my back like tentacles of cold wet seaweed. Evil… _real_ Evil. Not Quincy Rosenkrantz economic evil. Not Auschwitz holocaust evil. Incalculable, inhuman, utterly alien, thrice distilled and charcoal filtered _evil_.

"Oh shit… " I breathed, clingingly tightly to the railings in the carriage. My legs were threatening to drop out from under me.

"Their ultimate plan will be defeated… it always is. But still in their trying, they destroy worlds. They cut them from the branches of the universe and leave them to wither and rot like a leaf fallen from a tree."

I gulped… something about that seemed so much more horrible, than just being poofed into non-existence.

"The Red is dangerous enough on its own, with just its own agents in this world… if they had the power of a corporation like GENOM behind them? GENOM is the prize."

"What about Quincy?"

"He is as mortal as any man, he can and will die the same as any other human. If an agent of the Red where to take his place, they will have the power of the entire Corporation at their fingertips. GENOM is why they come to these worlds." He fixed me with an ice cold gaze, "The might of that corporation in the hands of the enemy does not bear thinking about. Not only will they be able to rot this world, they can spread their cancer beyond."

"What… " I swallowed a thick lump, "What can we do?"

"I can do nothing, as you know. _You_ are a Knight Saber Miss Deckard. If you've read Bubblegum Avatar, if you remember Three Knights, then you know; the Knight Sabers are always the key. This world is no different." He smiled warmly. "Friendship is your power. The bright light of friendship is the only thing which can ever truly defeat the darkness of the Red. Stand by your friends, Deckard, never put your personal Tower before your friends."

Tower? I nodded again, running my fingers through clammy hair. This was too much… this was way too much. World ending shit.

"I'm just a… "

... sexaroid. I caught myself before I said it out loud.

"And you will have the power of all those who care about you behind you. And they will have you behind them. That is how you can win."

Resting my head against the railings, I could feel the thrum of the magnetic engines below my feet resonating through the metal. What the hell was I supposed to do about this? A long silence followed… as much of a silence as was possible in an underground carriage. They couldn't just stick with Bubblegum Pink to remind me of my extra-universal heritage, could they?

"Bloody hell."

Just, bloody hell. I wanted to say more, but I just couldn't.

"I must leave. Farewell, Miss Deckard, and good… "

"Wait!" I barked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

The question I'd wanted to ask dropped from my mind as he turned to face me, a perplexed look on his face. Quickly rifling through my thoughts, looking for the question… and it had been a doozy of a question… I found nothing. What came out of my mouth was the last thing I'd expected, but probably the first thing I'd thought of when Ishmael'd first appeared.

"Say hi to the other three for me."

Stupid! I winced. Off all the things.

"I will. Goodbye and Good luck."

He was gone.

Winked out of existence.

Right under my hand.

I made a fist with my left hand, as if it could prove he'd been there… it didn't. I scanned the carriage. Nobody'd seemed to notice him appear. Nobody'd noticed him disappear. Shivering, I watched my reflection in the train window stare wide-eyed back at me.

This.

Was.

Insane.

More insane than jumping worlds? More insane than going from human to boomer? A dying leaf, fallen from a tree, to wither and die. To rot into nothing. Everyone and everything turning to dust. There was evil in this world… war, rape, kidnapping a businessman's family and using them as leverage in a corporate takeover… and it was God-awful.

That there was evil beyond the world? Lose 1d6 SAN, I thought, my brain trying vainly to drag me out of it with a bit of gallows humour.

Still half in a daze, I nearly missed my station… I had to push through the boarding crowd to get off the train. Walking through the station, I tried to drag my thoughts back to here and now… I tried to focus on the current mission, but the thought just wouldn't leave me.

A shadow over the city?

In the middle of the rushing crowd, in the middle of one of the busiest stations in MegaTokyo, I suddenly felt terribly alone. Hauling myself up to street level, I wanted to go home… my real home. Boomers I could handle, but world ending _evil_? What could I do against that?

It was 10:01:22 am.

The streets were black with people, even though morning rush hour was beginning to ebb. The winter sun hung low behind GENOM headquarters, the Dark Tower casting a long shadow over the city. An evil shadow.

"Deputy," a voice buzzed in my ear. "Do you read me?"

Huh?

"Deputy, this is sheriff, do you read?"

Sylia's voice snapped me out of it. Right now, none of that mattered. Right now, I had to push all that out of my mind. Right now I had a bloody job to do, and I was going to bloody well do it, or those kids would die. I pushed the button on my collar.

"Sheriff deputy, I read. Loud and clear."

"We have a visual fix on you. Gunslinger is in place. Saloon is Open, no sign of the Posse."

Priss was standing as backup. The Pink was open. No sign of the ADPolice.

"Roger. Proceed to target."

Friendship is my power? First I saw the Silkywagon parked opposite me. Mackie was inside, reading a magazine, Priss with her feet up beside him. I _knew_ Sylia and Linna were overhead, even though I couldn't see them. Nené was watching over me from ADPolice headquarters.

The bright light of friendship was behind me.

I smiled, and turned towards the club.

**I... I**

The Pink was small at street level… fogged out windows and 'adults only' signs hinting at what was inside. Above, where about ten stories of offices and apartments, the same as any other building in the city. A plaque on the wall was embossed with the local bosses emblem. It looked like a stylised beehive. A wretched hive of debauchery and sin lies within, it warned.

Bubblegum Pink.

Why couldn't any reminders of my previous live have stayed at that fanfic? I blew that out of my mind with a long sigh. There was only the job now, and regardless of what some meta-dimensional evil shadow of ultimate awfulness was doing in the background, the job came first.

Why couldn't that white menace have waited until _after_ I'd gotten out of here? The last thing I needed on my mind right now was a distraction.

I stepped inside, glancing up at the boomer guard. Arnold Schwarzenegger model… someone liked _The Terminator_. Confidence, Meg, act like you've a right to be here, and people will assume you do.

"It's Nagato, I'm here to meet Obasutorīto."

Sylia chose the name… just another little coincidence. There were a lot of them today.

"You're expected," said the cyberdroid. "The club is downstairs."

The stairs were darkened, illuminated only by dim red mini-lights, strips of which were built into the walls. The carpet underfoot was spotted and worn, a few parts glistening where dropped chewing gum had been turned into black tar by a few years of dirty shoes.

The door at the bottom was covered in silver sequins, each one reflecting little sparks of red. Above it, the sign. _Bubble Gum Pink. Club for Gentlemen._

To the side of the door, another sign:

_The price of admission,  
Is not the price of permission.  
Girls set their own rates  
Debtors get to set rates too._

What did the last line mean? I pushed the door open, being swallowed up by a wall of sweat, stale fags and spilled alcohol. The stink would've made a human gag. The smoke in the air made my eyes water.

Inside.

It was a goddamned shithole strip club, nothing special. Dank, dark, and with the superficial chrome all stained yellow by nicotine. The poles on the stage were clean, well polished by use. The tables clustered around the poles, some still with empty glasses on them. The chairs still wore some of last night's stains.

I could smell _that_ too…

It was dirty as hell down there. Jesus Christ, don't these people know how to run a bar?

"Mornin'," greeted the woman, washing glasses behind the bar. "Can I help you now?"

Blonde hair, glassy blue eyes. Perfect face, perfect body, perfect smile, all with inhuman symmetry. Her breasts were bigger than mine nudging towards looking a little top heavy and awkward, but otherwise…

Another sexaroid? The possibility thrilled me…

She was dressed to embarrass the Dirty Pair in a tight vinyl tank top and 'shorts' that actually showed more flesh than a lot of underwear I had. They were tight enough to leave nothing at all to the imagination.

I read her pheromones, dulled by the smoky atmosphere. Strong, screaming sexual availability, inhuman, male targeted. Definitely inhuman, but… lacking. Much too direct, much too narrow. I'd never met another 33-S, but I knew how to tell one apart… it takes one to know one. Either she was a bodge job from a standard model, or a serious high-grade boomeroid.

Disappointing…

"I'm Nagato. Here to see Obasutorīto," I said, focusing on the job.

"Oh, he's busy," she said with plastic cheerfulness, "You can wait here; he's expecting you."

I took a seat by the bar, watching the closed back door. _Private_, read a trilingual sign. The cyber-woman kept cleaning, watching me as I settled onto an old stool. I kept quiet… starting a conversation was a great way to get your cover blown.

"So, just tell me something," the bar girl said after a few moments thought, "Just who did your work?"

I nearly fainted.

"Work?"

"Yeah… well, it's obvious you're cybernetic, Nagato… I can smell you, y'know?" she winked. Smell me… pheromones? "Well, whoever it was, it's a real good job."

"Thanks," I smiled, hoping she'd drop it.

"I got saddled with thunder-tits," she pointed to her chest before rubbing her back, "And the structural support problems. 'Street's a bit of a breast guy, and it kinda shows."

I nodded, "GENOM built me."

"Wow… going from some corporate squeeze to a place like _this_. What happened, did he get terminated with prejudice and shaft you for the debt?"

"Yeah."

"Most of us're here for debts, too," she chirruped, "Get in debt with some people, they break your legs… others… " she pointed at her chest, again.

I remembered something Nené has said, a _rumour_ about what the mob did to people who fell into debt with them. Guess it wasn't a rumour, then. If I hadn't just gotten off a train after being told of world ending evils by a pan-reality time-lord wannabe, I might've been more horrified by the implications of someone being subjected to forced cyber-surgery and used as a sex slave.

"It's a credit card debt, and I can't get a job anywhere else."

She gave me a puzzled look for a moment.

"I suppose no-one will ever take _us_ seriously again, will they?" she giggled.

"Guess not," Glancing at the door again, I considered ordering a drink, but thought better of it. Curiosity began to needle a question, "What do you do here, anyway?"

"Well, officially we're exotic dancers but secretly we're premium prostitutes, not those dirty street girls."

"Heh."

"No really, we're clean. Cybernetics don't carry VD's. And our clients are vetted too, and they have rules to follow if they don't want to get banned, _and_ the pay is so much better than just being some streetwalker."

I gave her a dubious look, well aware that I could've ended up just like her. Maybe a little better off; my mind was still my own. Even her mind had been rewritten somehow, there were human markers missing that should've been there. She hadn't even introduced herself yet… not unusual for someone working behind a bar mind… but there was nobody here other than myself.

I'd rather be a boomer, than be her.

"Are you still yourself?"

Priss might've asked the same question.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be? They changed a few things, but that makes it easier to do my job."

And still cheerful about it to boot. Now I knew why I'd gotten weird looks from Nené, I was giving bar-borg the exact same look. She'd had her very personality modified, then modified again so that she'd be glad of it. At least I could say I'd always been a sexaroid, even though stuff got complicated once I started asking about my human memories.

"My mind was not changed," I tapped the side of my head.

"You did this _willingly_?"

I might've been better off telling her I was a factory built sexaroid…

"You didn't?"

"Hell no!" she yelled, showing a flash of the real personality under the mask. "It was either _this_, or a swim in Tokyo bay."

"Alright," I held my hands up. "I got this body to get ahead in office politics, the office go bust and I get stuck with big bills to pay," And I thought I didn't want to get into a conversation. Screw it, maybe I can turn this to my advantage. "Only job I can get is here," I sighed.

"Oh, it's not so bad Nagato," she reassured, switching back to the mask, "After a few weeks, you start building up your reputation, and you can start dictating your own prices, you start taking higher paying clients."

I started to pity her. I really did. And I had to keep that out of my mind. Eyes on the job, Meg... just focus on getting into that office?

"What's Obasutorīto like? Is he boomeroid too?"

"Oh no, he failed his psych exams, he can't get cyber'd," she smiled. "So he's_ all_ natural human." Brilliant, I smirked. As soon as the door closed behind us, he was going to hit the floor. "So he doesn't start too good, and he isn't the best at finishing the girls off either, those without the ability to match orgasms anyway."

The last part, I didn't need to know... hopefully. "I mean, does he carry gun?"

"No," she shook her head, "It's against the rules when you're with a girl. No guns, no tazers either because damage is expensive to fix. We just get fined if we misbehave. He's actually pretty good to us," she chirped.

Was it a programmed lie? Someone who failed a boomer syndrome psych exam, and so was banned from getting non-medical cybernetics, but still manages to be 'pretty good' to the girls, and doesn't use guns? Something didn't add up...

Important thing was, he was still all natural… that made my life easier. Unless he wore glasses… I blew cold air through my lips, trying to compose what I would say to the boss here.

"Nobody carries a gun?"

"They're not supposed to, no." Good. "If they do, they aren't worth the bother… Big pistols means small gun means no fun," she winked.

I smiled lightly, trying to think of more important things.

"What about the boomers?"

"They keep the riff-raff out, they're legal ones. Strong enough to crack a skull with one punch", bar girl boasted. Not much different to what Hot Legs had then, we just used power limiters so we wouldn't get sued by the wounded. A Yakuza club had no such difficulties.

What was taking Obasutorīto so long? Did he already know who or what I was? Was he just setting me up, waiting to close a trap as soon as the door shut behind me? Silence fell… except for the aging ventilation fans struggling to clean the filthy air. 'Silent-running' motors sounded more like a washing machine loaded with nails.

I looked down at the boomeroid behind the bar… because businesses like Hot Legs pay off these Yakuza gangers, people have to live like this. Well, just be thankful it's them and not me. The little evils that made the world run were nothing compared to what was outside it. Damn you Ishmael, I could've happily lived the rest of my life without ever wondering why I'd been brought to this city. I could've lived the rest of my life telling myself I'd lived here all my life.

If any human was ever offered the chance to be a sexaroid, I'd be the first to recommend it to them… provided they had the chance to live as free as I did, naturally. The worst part about being a sex slave was the 'slave' part.

Like the indentured boomeroid behind the bar.

"Nagato… " she broke the silence, "Can I ask you what your percentage is? How much of you is human?"

A few memories, maybe. Zero percent hardware.

"1.5," I answered, "Everything but front lobe and some parts of brain."

I was met with wide eyes,

"I'm only at 74 standard… just enough that they can call me a mad boomeroid if I ever run for it," she said in a bitter tone. I wasn't sure whether she was jealous of me, or what. I'd grown so used to running with my built in sixth sense for these things.

"Nothing but the best for GENOM."

"At least I can say I still have some human parts left in me… why would anybody go that far?"

"In for a penny," I demurred, "Had hoped to use abilities to climb the corporate ladder and pay off loans… corporate ladder got downsized before that."

"Sucks," said the ersatz sexaroid. "Then the bill came up right, you made bad choices, and now you're here… same as all of us."

Was the mask slipping? A real personality screaming inside the stepford façade? My curiosity was piqued.

"What's it like, working here anyway?"

Like a tonne of bricks, the programming came crashing down.

"It's great," she beamed, "It's pretty easy work, once you remember that you're built for it. It's like getting money for breathing,"

That was proof. Her whole character had been rewired, and it wasn't even a very good job of it. I had the same sort of programming, but mine was a hell of a lot more subtle than this backyard hack-up. Damn you Obasutorīto!

… wait.

Stupid bloody coincidences. This was not the real Kris Overstreet, and this club was not a parody fanfic of all those stupid out of character lemons. This club was one of those lemons made real… where people's characters were bodged and kludged to the point where they'd willingly do whatever the hackers had wanted them to.

Just hurry the fuck up and get me out of this place!

"What's the holdup?"

"Keep your panties on, 'street's got business to take care of."

"What business?" I dared ask.

"Yakuza business we don't ask about," she smirked.

What would happen to her when the ADPolice raided the place? I wondered quietly. That was somebody else's problem, not mine. Focus on Obasutorīto… focus on the job. The fans kept rattling. Ten minutes I'd been waiting. Ten minutes his goons could be working to trap me here. Ten minutes the police could be speeding their way to save the day…

What do I do if I get arrested _here_. My reputation'd be shot for a start. Add to that the chance my true nature could be discovered…

"Get used to it sister-droid, working here means learning discretion."

I pouted. "I know discretion. In GENOM, discretion is life." Same as in the Sabers.

Just hurry up. Knock him out, or knock him up senseless if that don't work, write the data out off of whatever computer it's on, get the hell out before he wakes… or the cops come. The difference between me and bar woman… I was in control of my abilities, she was controlled through hers.

Maybe I should get something to drink, it certainly beat wai…

That thought was interrupted by a ringing phone, answered by bar-borg.

"Is there a Noriko Nagato out with you, Bonny?" a voice crackled through the headset.

Her name was Bonny?

"Ya, she's here, I'll send her in," Bonny turned to me, "Go ahead, Nagato. Back door, turn right, third door on right."

"Thank's Bonny", I smiled.

She blinked, "How… did… you?"

I winked and tapped my ear. "One point five."

She might've been able to smell pheromones to a point where she could pick up on a few clumsy details, but her senses were still limited by the bandwith of the human brain. That she'd been surprised I'd been able to overhear her name on the phone was proof of that.

I left her wondering… and maybe a little jealous. It was an architectural limit. It was why brain-computer interfaces were still so rare, despite the ubiquity of cybernetic prosthesis. The human brain just couldn't handle the data-rate.

I unzipped my jacket… just a little distraction… as I pushed the back door open. I had intended to play this quick, just a stun-and-run, but now?

If he wanted rape people's very minds to turn them into his own personal ersatz-sexaroids, then I'd bloody well show him what a real sexaroid could do… just a little clothes-on demonstration to give him an idea just how terrifying it was to lose control of your own body. It appealed to my mischievous side… the same side which liked opening the door on unsuspecting guests fresh from the shower, dripping naked.

Behind the door was a short hallway, dimly lit by overhead striplights. Private meeting rooms lined the hall, leading to an emergency exit at the far end and some stairs that I guessed led down to a cellar. The smell of old sweat and sex clung to the walls… I could barely imagine what the others' reaction would've been.

The sooner I get out of here, the sooner it stops being my problem.

Obasutorīto's door was labelled in Kanji… I couldn't read it… but since it was the only door labelled in Kanji, it was a fair bet that it was his. Charging myself up, I knocked on his door.

"Yeah, come in."

I pushed the door open, welcoming a rush of spring-fresh freshener coming out to meet me. It was a small office, but opulently appointed. The carpets were plush, the walls wood-panelled and hung with several kanji wallscrolls. A katana was sheathed on its stand, scabbard darkly varnished. Behind a wooden desk, half hidden by a desktop computer was a middle-aged Japanese man, dark hair thinning, his skin mottled by time. Obasutorīto himself observed me over his steepled hands, thin eyes turning to golfballs as he got his first good look at my body, his first good sniff of my scent.

Yeah, I smirked as the effects started to kick in, that's the hit of the whole fruit alright. His eyes dropped from my face to my chest, tracking slowly down past my stomach, finishing at a point between my legs.

The door closed quietly behind me, trapping him inside with just myself and my pheromones for company.

"It's me, Nagato," I said.

"Well," he nodded, "You want to join our little club?

He was fighting back against what his own biology was trying to do, trying to maintain the civilised façade, trying to play the nonchalant confident one. _Trying_ not to show weakness. I locked our gazes… if I'd wanted to play it nice, I probably could've just stunned him right there, booted his computer, stuck Nené's little hacking stick in and let it work its magic.

"I need the money. And I can't get work anywhere else."

He started to run his fingers through his hair, sweat moistening his skin. I could smell the lust beginning to build, hot and heavy with a spicy tang to it that thrilled me. It was a really nasty thing to do to a person… a man doing it to a woman would be despicable… but there was no more deserving target for this sort of mindfuck.

"Good, good," his voice cracked a little. He tried to break my gaze, looking away towards the katana on the wall, "What can you do?"

I placed my hands on the desk, leaning over towards him, bringing my face closer to his. I watched his eyes track towards my cleavage ever so slightly, before snapping back to my face. .

"How about I _show you_, hmm?" I liked my lips lusciously. Good people don't do things like this, a part of my mind warned. But this one _deserves_ it… and I wasn't going to have sex with him or anything, just screw royally with him.

His eyes bulged again, the man swallowing. The implications were obvious, weren't they? The implications were tantalising, thrilling even, weren't they? He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He wanted to say yes… millions of years of evolution wanted to say yes. Years of social mores and common sense screamed 'no'.

He nodded again, wordlessly. Biology was winning.

Keep cool, I told myself. I had control, now I had to keep it. This could backfire on me hard… lose control and he might try and take what I was offering. I had to be careful. I had to keep eye contact.

Sitting on his desk, I swung my legs over until I was sitting facing him again. He gulped once more, eyes tracking down the inside of my thighs.

"Well, before we start, I need you to set the right mood."

"Mood?"

"Music. Maybe we can get some from the computer?"

Again, he nodded. I powered it on, hearing the coolant pumps whine to life, radiator fans inside the boxy casing spooling up. It took just a few seconds for the login screen to appear.

He logged in.

"Good," I smiled, touching his cheek with my end. Static electricity prickled from my fingertips, sending little shudders of pleasure through his body. A quick glance down showed a tell-tale bulge between his trousers,

"What song?"

"Anything… _sensual._"

I slipped forward off the desk, moving to straddle on of his legs. The computer'd booted to desktop, I could stop right now, get the information of it and go… but it couldn't hurt to hear it from the horses' mouth.

I had him.

He gasped as my fingers traced down to his lips and along his bare neck. Still holding eye contact, I started to undo his tie… of all things. "We can start in a few moments, but I need help with something first."

"What?" he slurred, almost drunkenly.

I started to work the buttons on his shirt, opening each and every one, slowly working it with my fingers. His body burned with carnal desire. My head was clear as a bell. Sub-routines told me how to go further, but I decided to hold.

"Some of my friends are missing. I think you know where they are?"

My tone promised a reward for the right answer.

"Friends, but?"

"I'm so worried," I gave him puppy eyes, "It might be hard to perform."

Okay, you really are pushing this too far Meg, warned my human side. The part of me built in a factory was having a ball.

"Alright," he gasped."Who?"

"3 children. 2 Girls and 1 boy. Along with their mother," There was the cold flash of fear and realisation, seared away by the hot burn of sexuality. His brain had figured out the awful truth, but his body was too busy trying to get some to care. "I think you know where they are?"

I ran my fingers along the inside of this thighs, tracing towards his penis. Smirking lovingly, I slid forward, pressing my crotch against his own.

"Come on, do you want me or not?"

Just lay it on the line… against the loins.

"Accutron Metals, in Kawasaki," he gasped.

"Thanks," I chirruped, placing my hand against his cheek once more. "Now, just one moment."

I stood up, shaking myself down for a second, still staring straight into 'streets eyes. Accutron Metals… good… I just had to confirm that with the information on the computer. I pulled Nené's memory key from my pocket, reaching back and slotting into the PC's datalink port by feel. Glancing over my shoulder, I checked to make sure it was working. A little red light shone inside its translucent case.

It was active. Disk activity lights flickered on the computer's case, a new window popping up on screen.

_Copying files to external drive… _

Job done. Now just to deal with Obasutorīto.

Who was standing up, puffing like a bull, senseless eyes glazed over. Kurisu Obasutorīto has experienced a problem and needs to be shut down.

He lunged forward, grabbing me hard by the shoulders before the effect could take hold. His white shirt spilled open as he pinned me against the desk. The desk lurched backwards, the pair of us fighting to hold our balance.

He was panting hard, grunting with feral lust… all human consciousness had left his body, his brain running purely on primal instincts.

For one half second I panicked…

How was I going to explain_ this_ to the others? I could do it and just walk away, but what would they think of me afterwards? Would I have to tell them I was a sexaroid?

I remembered I could just stun him. For a moment, I'd forgotten. How stupid. I locked eyes one last time, staring right through him. Energy rolled up through my body, a psychosexual pheromone hammerblow that knocked him clean out.

He dropped on top of me, years without exercise… outside of a boomeroid's bed… pressing me painfully into the desk.

"Get off, you son of a bitch," I grunted, pushing on the body.

He rolled over, cracking his skull against the corner of the desk before dropping on his back to the floor. The man coughed and gagged, his breath gurgling in his throat. He lay on carpet, staring up at the nicotine stained ceiling.

I sat myself back against the table, and promised never to do something so dumb again. I checked the computer… 90%... good, nearly done. I browsed through a few of the papers on the desk… cybernetics orders, accounting ledgers, appointments… nothing out of the ordinary or strange.

His desk phone decided to ring, drawing a clench of fear that someone was looking for him, or checking if he was alright. I had the good sense to let it ring out, and switch over to answering machine.

"Obasturito," the panicked voice on the other end said, "Obasturito, it's Furokawa. Pickup dammit," I wasn't stupid, "I don't care what you're doing with your boomeroids this is bloody important,"… silence… "Right well, get your bone out of whatever bint you're in and get your ass out of there, the cops found the truck, they traced it back to your place, and we're hitting it in five minutes."… bugger… "Are you sure you're not there? Well don't say I didn't warn you when I kick the door in while you're busy creaming on the face of your dolls."

He slammed the phone on his end down. An ADPolice mole… Nené would love that. 85% complete, read the screen beside me. What the… how did that go backwards? Right… police coming… hurry the fuck up you stupid bloody key. I don't want to be caught down here, and I certainly don't want to be Obasturito's bloody 'bint'. I'll never live it down…

"Deputy, sheriff," my earpiece buzzed, "Two bandits just entered the Saloon."

I thumbed the button-mike. "Copy that sheriff. I have the Ammunition. The Pink Bandit is down."

Information is Ammunition…

"Good. Leave quickly. Estimate 5 minutes until Posse arrives. Wild Bill leading."

She beat me to it. ADPolice on the way, Leon McNichol in charge of the raid. Pretty much just what the mole on the phone had just said. The computer was going weird... progress now down to 75%. And stalled.

_This machine has performed an illegal operation and must be halted. See Digital Crimes Prevention Act 2029 for more information._

Nené's autohack was trying to copy everything on the machine's disk, including the music collection. Stupid DRM. I clicked cancel, and Nené's stick overrode it. The DEC terminal wasn't anything remarkable, a bulky beige case with a curved screen an integrated keyboard and two radiators on either side of the case for the liquid cooling. Nené's little stick was fighting a war against built in digital rights controls and software.

Whichever one won, if the ADP came charging through the door and found me standing there with Yakuza boss laid out unconscious on the floor with his shirt unbuttoned, I'd lose.

I just had to wait.

It'd suck to get arrested because of DRM. It'd suck to die because of it. And just leaving the files on the disk wasn't an option. I didn't know where the information was hidden… I couldn't just run for it with information I'd gotten… not without explaining where it'd come from. I couldn't even be sure it was right either, he might just've been telling me anything to get into my pants.

Yes Meg, that was a dumb thing to do, keep reminding yourself how dumb and never do it again. Didn't matter how much he _deserved _it…

Back up to 80%.

4:33 to go, depending on how accurate Sylia's estimates were. Her 'estimates' were often more accurate than most-people's hard facts. That meant I had about 4 minutes to get out of here, the last 30 seconds or so, the cops might see me leave.

And the progress bar on the PC… it was a roll of the dice if it ever finished in time.

Teasing me, it jumped to 95%, then sat there. These things had no basis in reality. I stared, willing it to move forward. The computer refused to be hurried… it would be finished when it was bloody well ready to be finished, and nothing I said or did would make any difference to that. Didn't mean I had to sit patiently, but it seemed to faster I wanted it to run, the slower it ran. I tapped the seconds out of the desk with my fingers… tap… tap… tap…

"Deputy, sheriff, what's taking so long?"

"Computer problems," Hearing this, the computer finished. "Err… never mind, On my way." I yanked the key and shut the PC down. Obasutorīto lay on his back on the floor, still totally out of it… still wheezing. He did take a rather hard hit to the temple…

3:47 until the cops arrived.

He wasn't my problem.

I pulled his door quietly behind me, took a deep breath, zipped up my jacket, and made my way back out to the bar. 3:32. Not a problem. Out the door before 3:00. No need to even worry. Someone was being boisterous in the bar, but it wouldn't be a problem. I'd just breeze past.

"How'd it go, Noriko?" Bonny questioned as soon as I entered the bar.

"I don't like him, I refused the job," I stated brusquely. Eyes on the door. Eyes on the exit. Why didn't I go out the back door?

"Too bad I guess," she said, not hiding her surprise very well.

Two punch-permed men in garish suits, were busy arguing over a bottle of Suntory. I didn't even give them a second glance… just Yakuza stereotypes… Instead preferring to make a beeline for the front door.

"Hey honey, you new here?"

A voice like jam laced with too much sweetener… oozing and sticky, full of false kindness. I didn't even look at its owner.

"Hey, she's ignoring you Shane," another chuckled.

"Hey, robo-slut, I'm talkin' to you! You gonna ignore a payin' customer?"

I remembered once being amazed to discover that some people actually talked like that… outside of fiction. I remembered once getting annoyed at it. Now, I just rolled my eyes at how fucking stupid some people were and tried to ignore them.

"I don't work here," I said, not taking my eyes off the door.

I heard a menacing chuckle behind me as he stood up, steel chair legs screeching against the floor. "Good, then the rules don't apply," There was the distinctive oily click of a gun's hammer being cocked, answered by a gasp from the bar. It didn't take a genius to figure out who it was aimed at. "You won't leave without talking a little longer now, will you?"

My first thought, was that this was just plain bloody ridiculous. Infuriating. Frustrating. 3:10 until the cops show up. I did not have the time to get shot. Swallowing that lump of panic that always came with having a gun pointed at myself, I turned to face him…

Halfway across the room, staring through dark shades along the barrel of a tiger-striped Desert Eagle pistol. It took two hands for him to hold it steady. Don't panic, no matter how intimidating a half-inch wide barrel is, keep your head, Meg. What can I do?

I can't stun him. He's wearing shades.

I can't do what he wants… Not in less than three minutes. Unless he was as utterly useless as the size of his gun suggested.

I can't start a shootout. No gun. It wouldn't've done much good anyway. This was exactly why I didn't carry… it'd be too easy to try drawing first and squeezing a shot off. That's a great way to get yourself shot when you're facing someone who'se already got his finger on the trigger.

I _was_ scared, trying not to shiver, trying not to panic, trying to fight back against every hardwired desire to break and run for it. He is not going to shoot me unless I run for it, I told myself.

"Hands up, sexy-doll."

I winced as he flicked the barrel up. The moron's finger was still on the trigger. Pistol cocked. Safety off. My insides went taut with fear… he was more likely to shoot me by accident, than by design.

I raised my hands, slowly… brushing one finger against a button on my collar. He didn't even notice what I'd done.

"Look, don't shoot, alright?"

I didn't have to fake the fearful quiver in my voice.

"Deputy, Sheriff. Situation?"

Thank God. Even if it wasn't any sort of codeword, Sylia had responded. Answered only by silence. She'd know I was in trouble.

"Alright, sweet-tits. I'm gonna put something in ya." He rolled the words off his tongue, like some sort of twisted seduction, "Now whether that's something you'll enjoy, or something _else_," he shook the DEagle, "Depends on you doin' exactly what I say."

"And that is?"

2:20 to go.

"Deputy, Sheriff. Respond?"

Sylia was starting to worry. Another few seconds, she'd send Priss in. Then we'd have to be quick. Cops were coming. This was going to be _tight._

"Well we gotta get that mouth of yours open first, I wonder what we can put in there?"

He looked down at his friend, still sitting at the table, smirking.

"I hope she ain't a vegetarian," he joked. "She's about to eat some meat."

Both of them laughed. 2:10.

"Sorry, but the portion size is _too small_,"I I jibed, scrabbling to grab the upper hand.

"Shut the hell up bitch!" he roared, thrusting his pistol in my direction. "You take what I give you, you got that?"

Finger. On. Trigger. 1:59. By then, I was starting to sweat.

My earbud tickled. "Deputy, Sheriff. Gunslinger to the rescue. Gunslinger to the rescue."

Relief. Priss was on her way. Don't blow it, Meg… just stay calm. I started to edge in from the door, giving Priss a clear shot at him as soon as she came through.

"Alright," I exhaled, go along with it. Bonny had taken cover behind the bar. Good luck to her… worst comes to worse, this place was about to become a warzone… And there wasn't anything substantial I could duck under when bullets started flying.

"Well," started Shane, "You're gonna do me first, and you'll swallow what I give you." He thought he had control of this, I could see him almost swell up inside his jacket. "and since you're so worried about portion size, you can do Len here as well, and swallow what he gives you, too."

Len started to laugh.

1:45. I did not have time for this shit. Karma didn't take long to get off its arse, did it?

"Alright," I played along. "You guy like eating out too?"

"Whooo," whooped the first one, "That's a damn tempting offer, but y'see, it's us that'll be havin the fun."

1:30

I heard footsteps on the stairs. Please be Priss. Please. Be. Priss. Please. Be. Priss. A mental mantra to save my life.

"Then what in it for me?"

"We let ya live."

The door smashed open. I didn't even wait to confirm it, I just ducked low, out of the way of any bullets. "Don't move asshole!" screamed a familiar woman's voice. "This thing here can drop a boomer in one shot, and it's aimed right at your head."

I stood back up.

Priss had her Member pistol, pointing right at Shane's surprised face. He was still aiming in my direction, but looking distinctly less sure of himself. Len raised his hands weakly.

The singer-saviour looked at me through her bangs. "You alright?"

"Yeah."

1:15. Slowly, I started to inch towards the door. The gun was still pointed at my head and my gaze was still locked on his finger which was still wrapped around the trigger. I didn't breath, I didn't blink, I just watched for the slightest twitch, any indication that he was about to fire.

I could sense Priss' anger, even through her leather jacket.

1:00.

I edged in behind her, slipping back. Sex-fiend and singer were now both aiming straight for each other. A gunfight right now, with the cops on their way. There was only silence.

Nothing but.

Priss was sizing up Shane was sizing up Priss. Fingers on triggers. Both ready to fire. Priss drew a long, slow breath, sweat beading out on her brow. Shane licked his lips, adjusting his grip on his pistol. Bonny peered up from behind her bar, while Len inched back away from his friend in the lime-green suit.

0:50.

"We're nearly out of time," I whispered.

Priss' red eyes stared straight through the sights of her stubby pistol. Gun was pointing at gun. It seemed possible that if they both fired, their bullets would meet in mid air.

0:45

"Back out the door," said Priss.

"Right."

I leant back against it, pressing the handle down. It snicked open, squeaking on its hinges as I pushed back out. Slowly, Priss began to shuffle back, never breaking her aim. I ducked back into the hallway, holding the door open while simultaneously getting out of the line of fire.

"You two sluts won't get away that easy." He yelled, like a lion stuck in a cage roaring at its keepers outside. "Y'got no idea who you two just fucked with, y'hear?"

"Tell it to the cops asshole," snarled the singer, stepping backwards through the door.

I slammed it shut. Neither of us needed to be told to run, we just did. It took us just a few seconds to get up the stairs, both of us bursting out through the front door together. Priss was still carrying her pistol as the pair of us ran out into the street.

I could hear sirens closing in, ululating through the city canyons. I focused on the Silkywagon, parked about 50 meters away, outside a shuttered store. Shane might already be chasing us… he seemed dumb enough to.

A clutch of kids on the mitch from school watched as we ran past full pelt, both of us starting to pant. The sirens were getting closer…

"This is fun."

"Just keep running," yelled Priss between breaths. "Just. Keep. Running."

Mackie was still in the driver's seat, feet up on the steering wheel reading H-manga. Both of us jumped into the open back doors, slamming them behind us. I sat back against the computer console, taking a deep breath. Another could've been killed… I filed it away with the collection with a cleansing sigh and a nervous shudder.

"Sheriff, Deputy." I radioed, "Gunslinger and I are clear. I have the ammunition. Job done."

I showed the memory stick to Priss.

"Good work." Sylia responded, "We'll talk back at the ranch. Sheriff out."

Another few moments of silence followed, both of us taking time to cool down.

"And _that's_ why I carry a gun, Meg," Priss said, haughtily, dropping the magazine and clearing the chamber.

"And it exactly why I don't," I shrugged.

"All I know is, I ain't going to be saving your artificial ass every time someone draws a gun on you," she snorted, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder.

"Hah!"

The peal of sirens, mixed with the squeal of tyres told us both that Obasutorīto's bad day was about to get ten times worse. We left before anyone could tell the police that two women had been seen running full pelt from the club moments before they'd arrived. Job done. And say a quick thank you to God that I'm still alive.

Or Ishmael.

I'd have to tell Sylia about him. I didn't even want to _think_ about him.

**I... I**

We drove back to the Panty Drawer, to deliver the data to Sylia. We could've transmitted it all wirelessly, but sending a few terabytes through the air took a hell of a lot longer than just driving there.

I made a point to ruin Mackie's H-Doujins on the way, by pointing out what would actually happen to Keichi's penis, and how cripplingly painful it would be, if Belldandy actually did_ that_ to it.

Mackie's response; "She's a Goddess, Meg. And it's just a doujin."

Still, it was fun to ruin people's pornographic fantasies.

I explained to Priss exactly what had been done to Bonny… and probably the other girls at the place…

"Same as you?" she questioned sharply.

"What?" I blurted, a little stunned. Where did that come from?

"It's obvious Meg." She said, a dark glimmer in her eyes, "You're not just an ordinary boomeroid," She stared right through me, almost trying to read my mind through my eyes.

I pressed back against the far wall. She knows I'm a boomer! What was she going to do? Was she going to shoot me straight off? Could I dive out of a moving truck? Priss glare pinned me against the wall.

"For one thing, no medical plan on earth would cover a body like yours."

Just like Nené… I grimaced. Did she talk to Priss about it or what? A relief, but an annoying one

"Look," I started, trying to remember what exactly I'd told Nené. Hard part about lying is keeping my story straight. "If the truth about me come out, it will get me killed," It had the beauty of not really being a lie.

"Oh come on!" she snapped "We're your friends, Meg, we're not going to stop being your friends just because we find out you escaped from some Oyabun's cybernetic harem."

Yeah, but if they find out I'm actually a real-steel sexaroid, and not some hack job? Still, Priss called me a friend, it was hard not to be warmed by that. It was hard not to remember what usually happened to Priss 'friend of the episode'. It made it harder to look her straight in the face and lie, a knot of guilt twisting in the back of my throat.

"That's not it." I shook my head, trying to figure a way out. "If I tell one, it is too easy to tell more. I mean." the puzzled expression on Priss face told me to keep trying, "If I tell one person, it becomes easy to justify to tell the next person. This keeps happening, and I tell wrong person, I die."

"Look, I never betray my friends, Meg… "

"But I might betray myself." I cut her off. "I have to be… how do you say… absolute about it."

More bullshit.

"That's bullshit" she called me on it. "If you just don't want to talk about it, that's fine. Just say so and don't be all mysterious about it. Show me that much respect at least."

She crossed her arms, red eyes still staring... watching. Cold hostility chilled the back of the van, crawling across my skin.

Fine then.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Her eyes narrowed. "Alright," She didn't like it.

First Nené, now Priss. It wouldn't surprise me if Linna had started to figure something was up also. Someone was going to guess it eventually, maybe it would be better if I just got out and told everyone. I looked into Priss' eyes, watching her consider _me_ and knew that was the bad idea.

Priss hates boomers, right?

Priss didn't hate Sylvie.

I'm not Sylvie.

Priss called me a friend, but Priss was the Saber I saw the least of outside a hardsuit.

How big a jump was it in her mind, before boomeroid became boomer? How long before the statement "Meg is really a boomer" stopped sounding ridiculous? What would Priss do to me when she finally joined up all the dots?

Priss was trying to figure out what I really was, while I was trying to figure out how close she was to the truth. Not wanting to stay in the silence in the back of the truck, I joined Mackie up front.

"I don't need any more distractions while I drive, Meg" he muttered pointedly as I settled into the passenger seat.

I just sighed and watched him take an off-ramp down into the fault. They say a little paranoia is a healthy thing. A lot of it isn't. I had enough of it in my life every time I met a cop in the street, I didn't need it from friends or colleagues.

There was a quick jaunt through an old junkyard, past the rusting remains of old hopes and dreams, before we entered the broken subway tunnel that led all the way to the Panty Drawer.

Kilroy had been there.

"Sylia, we have the data!" I called as I jumped from the cab.

"Good," was the answer from the changing rooms, "Is Mackie with you?"

"Yeah, sis," answered the boy.

"Bring the disk to me in here then. I'm still in the shower with Linna"

The betrayed look on Mackie's face was priceless. It was no surprise that she beat us back... she could go roofhopping in a hardsuit, while we got ourselves stuck in traffic on cross-town expressway thanks to a drunk driver pitching his car off a motorway flyover.

Shower? I could still smell the stink of that place on myself.

"I think I'll join you."

Sylia was already finished, naked but for a towel around her shoulders, and dripping wet. Linna was covered in suds, singing some diabetes-like pop tune to herself as she massaged her hair.

"We got the info, Sylia" Priss got in before me, "And I got something I'd like to talk to you about... " she glared at me... " In private."

Feeling a fearful thrill, I handed the disk over, earning a quick "Good work" for my troubles, before Sylia left with Priss for the break room.

Brilliant... I closed my eyes and took a deep, clearing breath. If the truth was going to come out, maybe it'd be better if I was halfway to work when Priss found out.

"What was that about?" enquired Linna while I started to strip.

Is she getting suspicious too?

"Priss save my ass from Yakuza with gun," I lied off the cuff, feeling a few gentle pangs of guilt. Unlike Priss, Linna really did trust me...

"I think she's starting to warm up to you," chuckled the dancer.

Hot water did wonders for washing away the smell of that place, it didn't wash away the creeping feeling that Sylia was telling all to Priss. _And_ I still had to talk to her about Ishmael and Tet corporation, puppet Mason and this evil-beyond-metaverses crap.

But Priss came first in Sylia's mind. Priss would always come first. There was some bond between those two that I just couldn't get my head around.

I still had to go to work.

**I... I**

The Legs was hopping... Inazuma Kikku could always draw in a crowd.

"Something bothering you, honey?" purred Daley Wong.

Absent Leon. Trouble in paradise?

"Ever have a secret," I answered with another question, "about self that you're afraid tell anyone? Because if you tell anyone, they might... " kill me "... not like it?"

"Trust me," he smiled warmly, "That's a feeling I know well."

A small spark of anger burned. How could he possibly know what I was talking about?

Oh right...

That was almost funny.

**I... I**

I watched Blade Runner again that night. It was on television… one of those late films they don't really expect people to watch, but stick on anyway because they need to fill the schedule with something cheap.

Watching that film as a human… it asks how different humans and replicants are. Or it's supposed to. But the replicants are still the 'bad guys', even if the viewer is still supposed to have sympathy for them. After all, all they want is to live. At the end though, they're rooting for Rick against Roy. The bad robots have murdered their way callously onward, unfeeling, unthinking… friends, creators, innocent people on a shuttlecraft… they need to be stopped.

Watching the film as a boomer… It reminded me just how easily someone could kill me. I hadn't killed anyone, or escaped from any orbital stations. I hadn't drilled any executive's eyes out with my thumbs. All I'd done was live. For a boomer living in Megatokyo was a capital crime.

Watching Pris… with one S… walking lonely through a rainy city, clutching her meagre belongings tightly, before crawling under a pile of rubbish for warmth. A basic pleasure model. Which could've been me.

Ask any citizen of the city. A boomer doing no harm to anyone, just living on their own, however they want to live, ask them if they should be killed, and the majority would say yes. Boomers were the evil machines that went buggo and murdered people, after all.

Priss would say yes… which I find deliciously ironic considering her name. Linna… possibly. Sylia knew, and was happy to leave me be, though whether she told Priss or not I wouldn't know untit the morning. Nené depended whether she was on duty or not, I guessed.

Even I killed boomers. Battle models running amok. But I still killed them. What thoughts ticked through their brains as they died? Sheer bloody terror, or just an uncaring acknowledgment of terminal damage as it expired? The true machines served coffee. But the wetware between my ears wasn't _that_ different from the battleboomers I blew sky high. Just a few more blocks and security checks on their part, to keep them from being sentient.

In the end I wanted Roy to win.

Everything I was… all my experiences as a Knight Saber, all my friendships, all my hopes and dreams, could be destroyed on the whim of some arrogant cop looking to make a name for himself by bagging a rare model. All it took was a moment's carelessness from myself to give him reason to. The newspapers would love it. _"Deviant sex-boomer living among us for six months." _Writes itself, doesn't it?

Maybe I was already dead. Every day I lived, I was hanging on to the edge of that building. While I rarely thought of it, I pushed it to the back of my mind and just got on with the act of living day to day…

I _never_ forgot it.

**I... I**

Saturday morning.

We found them.

The old Accutron Metals building in Kawasaki was dark and brooding in the morning mist. It looked abandoned, some of the windows broken, the rest darkened and yellowed. The galvanised steel roof had started to rust through in places, a few sheets having sloughed off and fallen into the yard below, joining three old trucks that had been rusting in peace for at least a decade.

One of them had fresh tyres on.

Opposite was an old office block, also abandoned. Paint was peeling off of damp concrete, a few old flakes floating in puddles of stagnant water on the floor. Parts of the roof had rotted through, and the whole place stank of damp and decay.

We set up in an office overlooking the factory...

"At least the chair's still comfy," I commented, nestling myself onto the CEO's throne. There were still some files on the heavy oak desk, paper stained brown by age.

"I think it's diseased," Nené remarked, scrunching her face up in disgust.

"I don't get sick," But mould would still grow in my lungs given half a chance... among other places. Some work for Raven when this was all done, then. "Though I could do with a good service," I sighed, stretching sexily.

"We can't all be machine goddesses," scorned the cop as she dropped a crate on the floor. "Maybe when I save some money up… "

Sexaroid Nené? That could be fun... A proper sexaroid now, not one of those hack-jobs from the 'Pink. If anyone ever got the chance to join the ranks of 33-S, I'd be the first to recommend it.

The cop kicked open the crate, "Now lets get this stuff set up and working before the others get here."

There was a lot of work to be done. The target building had to be mapped… no plans existed. We had to find the hostages inside. We had to determine just how many guards there were, how many were mechanical and how many weren't. What where their plans? What were they doing now that their boss was banged up downtown waiting for the arrest and search warrants to clear?

"Meg, what did you do to Obasturito?" inquired Nené, almost out of the blue.

A flash of fear.

"Huh?"

"Well, when Leon found him, he said he was a drooling idiot, barely conscious with his shirt unbuttoned. When they finally got him to come around, he started blabbing about some cyborg woman who'd messed with his head... " she placed a finger on her lips, "... He said she used some sort of mind control on him, before she knocked him out with her hypno-eyes. How did you do that?"

"I guess I'm a just a knockout," I deadpanned, cupping my boobs.

"That's not what I mean," her expression darkened. "You did something that got inside his head somehow."

I tried to pokerface it. "People will do anything for some ass."

"It's more than that," she shuffled her feet, not sure how to express herself. I could smell her confusion, above the mustiness. "The boomeroid women at the bar... some of them could read people's pheromones. Can you do that?"

Shit. Trying to lie my way out of this now would be too suspicious.

"Yes," I nodded.

"Then... " she swallowed... "What am I feeling right now?"

"You're afraid of me," I answered quietly, "You're confused... and a little stunned that I got it right."

She gaped... and stepped back from me, the air bristling with fear.

"How... did you?"

"Like you say, Pheromone sense" I answered quickly.

Another few moments while she pondered.

"What else can you do?"

"A lot."

Ambiguity would save me.

"Meg... "

"Don't worry... I can't read your mind, just your mood."

A flash of anger. "That wasn't what I meant!"

Didn't I ask her to leave this alone? I placed my face in my hands, thinking. I can't tell her I'm a boomer. I can't tell her that I can make people very... influenceable. A lot of the stuff I could do was illegal, even before we got to the fact that I wasn't a human being. A man like Obasturito from the Pink with my abilities would be a woman's nightmare.

I couldn't tell her anything.

I couldn't tell her how… suggestible… I could make people. Her first thought would be to wonder if I'd ever done it to her… I hadn't intentionally… her second to question if it was how I persuaded Sylia to let me join the Sabers… I definitely hadn't. Her third would be to wonder if she could run away before I could stop her telling anyone.

Okay. Time to roll the dice.

"What… what do you think I am?" I questioned.

If she got the right answer, I'd admit it. I was terrified that she would. What would happen then? Do I swear her to silence and hope that the life I have can carry on unchanged, or does all hell break loose when the other Sabers find out.

I'd stared boomers in the face, a whisker away from certain death… And a pink haired police officer discovering the truth about me scared me a hell of a lot more.

She was thinking, churning the evidence over in her mind like a good cop. I thought about tweaking her thought processes… just a little nudge. Maybe bring up that time at the public baths when I gave everyone a soothing massage.

"I don't know," she bowed her head, staring at her feet. She sat down on a crate, looking up at me, green eyes scanning my body. "I don't think you're a boomer,"… a sigh of relief… "You don't act like one. But, there's things you can do that no human can. Like when I was talking to you on Freelance, you answered so fast, it was almost like you didn't type a response. Nobody can type a paragraph of text and send it, in under a second."

Freelance being an Open-Source IM program, which had a client for boomer AI's.

"I also overheard Mackie talking with Doctor Raven, about installing a hardwired control system for you on his latest pet project."... wait what? That was news to me... "Humans can't use them on that level, without risking their sanity due to the overload. You at least have a mental prosthesis then... but those have been banned since 2027."

All signs pointed towards me being something other than human. Nené just couldn't seem to make that final leap from modified person, to intelligent machine. As she said... I didn't act like a boomer. When she looked at me, she saw something alive… and boomers weren't alive.

My life as I knew it might be about to end. It all depended on how she'd react when she finally joined the dots.

"Nobody with a mental prosthesis remains sane for long... that's why they were banned. Yet, you're as solid and normal as they day I met you... finally, you … well… " she thought. "… well… at Hot Legs… I notice drunks and… um… people who aren't nice… I know it's silly, but they tend to faint a lot. Are you doing that?"

Crap.

"You are?" she read my expression like a book, "You know what the Police will do to you if they find you can do that?" she started to shout, "I mean… that's legally a weapon… boomeroids with built in weapons don't even get a chance to put their hands up… Just a full magazine to the face to be sure they don't shoot back. They will kill you if they find out."

When Nené started to shout, ears started to bleed. She was scared… really scared. Of me? A realisation hit her.

"Is that why you told me you could be killed if people found out what you were?" her tone softened.

"Yeah," I just nodded. Let her draw her own conclusions.

"Why would you even get cyberparts like that fitted?"

"Didn't have a choice," I said. Truth.

She looked at me.

"Who was it? GENOM prototype research? A Yakuza boss?"

"A corporation called Tet corporation," I told the truth again.

Nené paused.

"Never heard of them."

"They're from New York."

I could see her making a note to look them up at a future date, and maybe hack the hell out of their servers for more information. I hoped their sysadmin has a decent head on his shoulders, or Nené might find out more about me than I know myself.

"How much of you is human then, Meg?"

"Not much," I clung to the ambiguity.

"The brain even? The only way to handle all the sensory bandwith of that technology would be to replace a large part of the brain with some seriously complex hardware."

I nodded.

"Wow… " she drew a deep breath… "I'm a cyberpunk and even I think that's too far. A prosthethic body is common enough… with a broken neck or something… but the brain is part of the _self_. I know you said you'd had some programming and conditioning… but… wow… just wow… "

I just smiled at her.

"It works," I said. "And I feel great."

Another few moments… her curiosity had been piqued.

"How do you feel, Meg?" she asked me. "Your perception changed… what's it like being so mechanical?"

"I'll have to think about that… " It really wasn't something that could be explained to a human… it was like explaining the concept of colour to a blind man. "Pheromones... well… passionate feelings are hotter, like temperature, while more… thought out emotions are cold… like cold blooded murder. You can have Anger, which is obnoxious and a bit spicy. Jealousy which is very oily. Love is sweet fruit… " I ran a hand through my hair, "It's hard."

"And it's like that for everything?"

I nodded again. "Yeah. My eyesight… it's pentachromatic.. Red, Green and Blue like a human's… normal human's. " I caught the mistake, "Then I have a Yellow Receptor, and a Key receptor for light intensity. It goes slightly ultraviolet and infrared, but not much. Hearing, smell, taste and touch are much sharper… but essentially the same. Senses are more normalised across their range… 20 kilohertz is as loud as 1 kilohertz to me."

However, blue was still blue, red was red… and music was music.

"The world the same… it is just very… vibrant. More colourful. More alive. It is… really cool. The whole world in widescreen super-definition, rather than on a public phone screen. I love it."

Nene shrunk down, "I'm jealous," she was ashamed to admit, "I'd never want the cyberparts needed for it… Why would anyone even do that to you?" she switched back to her original track, "I mean, this just doesn't add up… none of it does."

She paced the room watching my reaction, while I tried to figure out a way to get myself out of this hole with only a spade.

"You can't be a boomer.. you act too naturally for that. Even 30-series personal secretaries are obvious, after a short conversation… but you're not quite human either… you have all these alterations to your brain, and you just don't care. Did they reprogram your mind to accept yourself, to make you think you enjoy what you are?"

… I tried not to think deeply about that, the implications where disturbing and uncomfortable, and best left in the corner of a dark room in my mind, with the door locked and signposted with' Beware the Tigers'.

"How far did that programming go? To rebuild an entire person? And then there's the question of why they did this to you? If you were an experiment, why the built in ability to stun people, why the ability to read pheromones… why such a high grade body? I'd swear it was a modified 30-series biomimetic boomer body, rather than anything cybernetic... "

That one made me wince. She hit her stride, while I kept stumm waiting for her to finish…

"You had nothing on you but your motorcycle, and a few random objects when we found you… most of which were over 20 years old. We guessed you were running away from somewhere. Sylia agreed and we all thought it had taken guts to pick up Irene, "… a breath, she was going a mile a minute… "so we decided that we'd help you get into cover in the city. Priss thought you might've been a GENOM spy, so we decided to watch and see, and when nobody contacted you or vice-verse we knew you were good… but now… "

She paused… feeling horribly uncomfortable.

"There's so much about you we don't know… and so much that doesn't make sense. You know more about old technology than no-one your supposed age has a right to, but trip up on basic stuff like quantum data formats and natural programming languages… but I've seen low level stuff like Python and even _compiled _languages on your computer. For a time you seemed surprised that the Soviet Union still existed," she laughed nervously.

That one had been a laugh. It'd taken me two months to find out even the Berlin wall still stood... and wasn't a museum.

"It's really… really strange. Then there are the technical things you do know, little tidbits about boomer AI's and biomimetic construction that I had to specifically look up for that Keller job a few weeks ago.

You're too human to be a boomer… but… all those cybernetics don't just get installed without reason… Research? Human/boomer integration… but why armed? " the final conclusion, "Were you some sort of corporate infiltrator? ... and since Sylia's keeping it from us, did you do some… um… _nasty_ things?"

I almost smiled. The wall in her mind between mechanised human, and humanised mecha was too broad and high to be beaten down, no matter how hard her mind threw the evidence against it.

"No," I shook my head.

This was getting hard… she was getting excruciatingly close… close enough that I seriously considered just telling her and getting it over with. Which might've been for the best, but I was just so afraid of Priss… what would she do?

"Nené, do you trust me?"

What a cruel and emotionally manipulative card to play… I could almost hate myself for it. Nené looked like she'd been stabbed in the back…

"Of course!" she answered quickly. "It's just… " another pregnant pause, "I know… I _understand_ if you're ashamed of yourself, or if you're really afraid of it coming out. But Sylia doesn't normally keep secrets from us... " pause... " so if even she thinks it's for the best, then… it probably is."

She didn't really believe that… the idea of Sylia keeping secrets worried her far more than she was trying to let on. She was so afraid of insulting me by telling the truth, she just couldn't say it. I could smell her, I could read her. There's nothing more tantalising to a true hacker than an obvious cover-up. Even if the secret could stay within the Knight Sabers… I liked the way things were between us… we were friends. Okay, so the lesson learned from a hundred Saturday morning cartoons was that there should be no dark secrets between real friends… it was obviously a setup for a shocking reveal that tests friendships to the breaking point and generally screws things up right when it's most important people work together and trust each other and'd probably be the thing that'd put me in a place where I'd have to choose between my secret and the Sabers… probably when Anri and Sylvie showed up.

I wasn't a moron. I knew all these things. I knew I'd be better off just telling and getting it over with… I knew I'd pay the price of not doing it, hopefully later rather than sooner. But I was also still a coward at heart. Fighting boomers was easy, telling your friends you are one is hard.

Silence.

"Maybe we should get back to work," I suggested.

"Un," Nené nodded.

"I ams what I ams," I quoted Popeye to myself. I started working on an electrical panel, digging through decades-old wiring trying to find just the one right cable that'd still be live. I was there because I knew power electronics… a legacy of my old life that came in handy from time to time. While I was no electrician, I still knew how to hack up the local grid and get power to a bunch of surveillance equipment.

"Are you sure," Nené questioned my competency.

And I thought she trusted me...

"Trust me, I know what I'm doing."

I should've known better than to tempt fate… especially given how well sensitive electronics and mains electric voltages mixed… but I knew this shit, and I knew it well. I'd worked on this sort of electronics before, both design and install. Like I said, I kn…

The screwdriver slipped, skating off some ceramic insulator. Soft skin touched live brass. I had just enough time to realise what was about to happen. There was a horrible flash of violet light, followed by a heartstopping pain, lasering up my arm before burning across my body. Warning messages screamed inside my mind, fighting with organic pains as sensitive systems turned turtle, shutting down to protect themselves from a catastrophic overcurrent.

Whether I screamed or not, I didn't know… but it fucking hurt.

About the same time I'd realised my heart had been placed under arrest by the voltage police, my skull hit the floor hard enough to ring like a bell.

"Meg, Meg" it tolled, shrill and feminine, jostling my shoulders. I slurred something, trying to get my thoughts straight. It felt like my entire mind had turned to jelly… Something smelled like a burned steak and melted plastic.

Damp chills were rising through my body, a cold shiver taking hold. Heart stopped. No breathing, my mind frozen with a hundred warning messages.

"Meg!"

The pink blur standing over me started to coalesce into a familiar face.

"Nené," I mouthed.

No breathing, no voice. Alright, keep a cool head, some systems were already starting to come back up. Just wait a few more seconds. A kick in the chest restarted my heart, followed by a hacking gasp as I started breathing again.

"Fucking ow," I groaned, pawing against the concrete under my hands.

"Are you alright?"

No. I was still getting warnings.

"Yeah." I lied, raising my right arm. A darkened streak ran up along it, starting at a black stain right at the base of my wrist.

That explained why my Ethernet controllers were still dead. It explained the burning in my arm and a strange tingle rising up through the back of my neck. A flash of bare metal glinted inside, still smoking lightly.

Nené grabbed me by the hand, and helped me to my feet.

"You sure you're alright?" she pressed, concerned. "It would've taken a lot of current to do that much damage."

I staggered drunkenly against the wall, struggling to hold my balance. Panting, I tried to hold control of myself, fighting against systems that had been thrown through loops. Aches and pains traced the path of the current through my body, concentrating on the metals in my joints.

"Damn" I wheezed.

A small crater had been burned in my wrist, scorching down to the Ethernet port inside. The current had jumped to its metal shielding, then zipped happily up the wiring in my arm, leaving a trace where it'd cooked the pseudo-meat around it, burned out an Ethernet controller chip somewhere near my shoulder, before running into the metal bracework around the joint, and through the rest of my skeleton.

Dumb luck had stopped it going the other way, following data cables up to my head, where it would've zapped synapses and killed me stone dead. The wrong control circuits, the wrong power coupling… and bang, zap, no more Meg.

"I'm calling Sylia, just sit down, Meg, and wait."

I propped myself up against the wall, trying to stand up straight. "No," I shook my head, croaking lightly. "I'm alright, I really am."

She pouted, "Don't go all Priss on us, that shock could've killed you."

I took another deep breath, "Thanks, but I'm fine."

I wasn't dead so I wasn't going to die. More and more systems were bootstrapping themselves, the jelly in my brain slowly starting to clear. Nene was dubious, but she was worried… really worried about me.

"I'll be alright," I repeated, sounding a little more like I was telling the truth. "Get this done first."

Self-repair systems started to crank up, analysing the damage and preparing a time estimate.

Estimated time to repair; 6 Hours, they reported.

Good, I wouldn't need Raven, just some food additives and some wrapping to keep the dirt out. Deus est Machina. It still felt like someone was holding a lighter to my skin, but I could just about bear that. I could swallow it down to my stomach, then squash it right through the base of my feet. Adrenaline was being boiled away by the heat of it…

Deep breath, close my eyes and squeeze it out.

"Are you sure."

I shuddered, feeling the fire spread its fingers across my body, following the path of the electricity. "Yeah… faster it done is better," Clutching at my chest, I dropped down into the manager's chair to catch my breath.

There must've been a couple of amps going through to burn like that. I was lucky it grounded through bracing in my skeleton, rather than somewhere vital. Nené's eyes narrowed.

"And _then_ I'm calling Sylia." She stated finally, "Boomeroids and electricity don't mix very well."

"Tell me about it," I tried to tap open the damaged Ethernet port, but got nothing but another cluster of hardware errors. "Self repair can handle it."

I just needed a minute or two to rest. I felt drunk... I think. It'd been a long time since I'd even been capable of being drunk, I'd forgotten what it felt like.

Don't remember it feeling _this_ bad...

Steadying myself against the desk, I rose back to my feet. Taking another sobering breath, I walked unsteadily towards a stack of travel crates containing our equipment. I caught my reflection in the screen of a 3DECstation... pale and lifeless.

Another deep breath... steady now Meg... and I'd actually missed this feeling?

Nené watching, dithering between helping me or just leaving me to it. I started to sweat, despite feeling freezing cold. Pains in my body still burned, but it was worth it. A can of Blue Bear glucose drink... a shot of caffeine, sugars and concentrated E-numbers to help sober up.

It worked about as much as I expected it to. Still sick to my stomach, stumbling through dizzy spells, I tried to get back to work. I worked with hands made of jelly… far away from anything with any sort of voltage in it.

An hour later and we were done. More or less. There was still some tuning to be done, but we had a good image of the building, and those inside it. Hostages deep inside, and boomer guards. They weren't obviously boomers… the gear couldn't distinguish human and boomer… but it was a fair assumption that the 4 signatures huddled in a small office were the hostages, the two figures standing outside were guards and the ones patrolling the grounds weren't industrial heritage tourists.

"So now we call Sylia," said Nené.

"Now I go to work," I tapped my watch.

A disapproving look fell across her face. "Meg… "

"I'm feeling better," I stated.

I was feeling better… Really I was. Money and the requirement to pay for food made sure I felt well enough to go to work. 120 Volts would stun a human… in a previous life I'd taken a few 240V shots and been a bit ropey for a few hours afterwards. I was still getting warnings about systems flickering in and out. At best, it felt like what I remembered of a bad hangover, at worst like a bad flu backed up by a beating with a baseball bat.

"If you were normal, I'd still say go to hospital, Meg."

"If I were human, I still not able to afford it." I deadpanned… or tried to. What sort of civilised country charges 6-digit sums for basic emergency care anyway?

She rolled her eyes. "I don't know why you and Priss don't get along, you can be so alike sometimes."

My expression darkened, "No I'm not," hands on hips proved it.

"Well," she started, holding up her hand. One finger went up. "you're both astonishingly stubborn when you want to be for one thing,"… I'm not stubborn… another finger, "you both live well below what you deserve, and are happy with that,"… my apartment was all I could afford… third finger, "you're both bikers,"… traffic in a car was murder… fourth "you both have backgrounds neither of you like to talk about,"… because mine will get me killed as broken property… and a fifth thumb, "and you both refuse to go to anything like doctor, or cybertechnician unless you're dying."

Because if I went to a doctor, he'd take one look inside and refer me to a cybertech, who'd take one look inside and refer me to the ADPolice…

"But I have to work," I repeated that thought out loud.

Money talks, pains in my chest, cooked flesh and electrolyte imbalances walk… barely.

I met Linna before I left.

"What's with the duct-tape on your arm, Meg?"

"Just a little accident," Just a little white lie. "Nené's upstairs, and everything's set up."

"It's good for some," she scorned playfully, "spending the night in a bar, rather than a damp office."

"Good for some, not feeled by every drunken pervert," I shot back. "And I get morning shift here after 2 hour sleep."

"Touché"

I left, flexing my duct-taped arm... what miraculous stuff, it really does fix everything. I still felt like hell when I got home, showering before I changed into my work clothes. I checked my own owner's manual... or at least, the Haynes Workshop Manual for 2027-2031 31 through 35 series biomimetic boomers.

It gave simple advice.

"_In the event your cyberdroid is ever exposed to live electrical current, seek the help of a competent mechanic immediately. While it may seem fine on the surface, surge currents and transient voltages may have caused serious damage to control systems which can lead to a loss of control of the machine."_

It can wait until after the mission tomorrow. Along with my conversation with Sylia. From what I figured, I'd gotten lucky... aside from cooking my network controllers, the guts of the current had grounded through the metal in my skeleton.

I might've graduated to main character status, but that didn't mean I couldn't die crossing the street. I could've done without the reminder though, thank you very much.

At least the flesh wounds had healed up enough that I could take the duct-tape off.

**I... I**

Sunday Night.

There was still something weird wrong with me, something my software couldn't quite quantify. Stupid electricity. Stupid me for tempting Murphy. My arm was still stiff, and I'd no network adapter… that'd have to be full on replaced, which was a major job.

I'd have to be shut down to do the repairs… according to the internet. All brain functions would cease. This was beyond sleep, I was still online while sleeping. I dreamed like a human, I could snap awake if disturbed. Sleeping was my AI's time to maintain itself, to index files, defragment memories and recharge tired neurons.

Being shut down… there would be nothing at all. No firing neurons, no awareness, no dreams just a digital oblivion that didn't seem too far away from full on and permanent death.

"_It's a machine, it would be better to say it has ceased functioning."_

Death for me was different. Provided my AI was intact, I could always be repaired… to a point. After too long without power, my memories would dissolve; I'd lose my mind. It was complicated..a real luck-of-the-draw. Just like humans. The wrong sort of damage could cause my AI to self destruct… so I wouldn't go completely buggo. If I got lucky, I could be revived even a couple of hours after being decapitated.

A controlled shutdown _should_ be harmless. And routine domestic flights shouldn't smack into a mountain, but they still do.

The idea of oblivion… of absolute and total nothingness… absence of thought and sense… it terrified me. I would be dead. Not just asleep, not just anaesthetised, but totally and utterly dead.

And then I'd be back. Light off. Light on.

I tried to put it to the back of my mind, along with all the other things that had been bothering me lately. Priss and Nené getting close to the truth... and I had to assume Linna too, even if she wasn't the type to say anything about it. Then there was Ishmael and all that crap on the train that I still had to tell Sylia about.

The little mental suitcase I'd pushed that all into was bulging at the seams, and'd probably be taken aside for special security screenings at an airport... but was holding.

Today was the day we earned our pay. And saved the children.

Beforehand, the traditional pre-battle planning session. With cake, tea and a three dimensional wireframe of the Accutron Metals building, highlighting each combat boomer, their make, possible armament, and individual paths to the hostages. Seemed like an easy enough mission.

"Ladies, we will commence our operation at 11pm sharp," Sylia started, "The enemy are expecting the ADPolice to assault, and have set up their guards in a standard defensive pattern, based on police standard doctrine. They're expecting a large assault team, not 5 women in hardsuits."

Linna sat between myself and Priss… thankfully. Nené was at the computer monitoring the police band in case…

"Sylia!" her frantic voice interrupted, "Leon's going now. His team's hitting the building with Daley's. It'll take them 20 minutes to get to the building."

… that happened. Shit. The atmosphere tensed immediately.

Sylia didn't need time to think about it. "Get suited up in the truck. We go now."

If the police attacked… it would be a bloodbath . Cops against combat boomers was always a mess… the hostages could get caught in the crossfire, and if the cops rescued them we didn't get paid for all our work.

"Why do the police always have to make our jobs harder?" Priss asked no-one, rolling her eyes to the heavens.

Why can't things go smooth for once?

"At least we get paid sooner," Linna found the silver lining on this cloud.

"Uh… " the ADP operator cut in again, "Someone just made a phonecall from ADP headquarters to the Accutron building… it's that damn mole again!" she spat, redfaced with fury. "Furokawa, you bastard!"

The worst thing for her was that while we could prove who it was, we couldn't prove it in a way that any of Nene's superiors would accept… and not without revealing her as a Saber in the process.

"See?" needled the blue Saber, hand on her hips.

"It's not a problem for us," Stingray stated, "They're expecting police, not us. We'll suit up and brief in the truck."

This was going to be real fun. For one thing, the drive down to Accutron would take at least a half hour. The cops had the advantage of a few helicopter transports within easy reach.

"We're not going to make it in time, are we?"

Linna sank down into herself, disappointed that we wouldn't be getting paid for doing a week's hard work and preparation.

"The Police won't attack immediately. If there's a stand-off, it can work to our advantage as a distraction."

Such was Sylia playing the chessmistress, already planning moves ahead. Something told me she wasn't Indiana Jones-ing this up either, but had meticulously planned for something just like this happening. She never came up with a new plan from scratch, she just changed gears into one of her pre-prepared backups.

It was reassuring.

It was an unsettling reminder that she was something... different. Not inhuman, but not the same as a normal human either. Her pheromones read differently... but not in a way I could quite quantify. It was a mystery I didn't dare ask about.

I was someone to talk... there was me getting worried about Sylia being 'different', when the only thing human about me were a few memories. Irony was fun.

Boarding a hardsuit in a speeding truck wasn't something I wanted to do again. The plastron slammed home, joints sealing tight around my neck, and I was glad to feel the power of the suit once more.

If wearing power armour capable of upending a small car ever started to become routine, I wanted to be shot. A few months of action had seen the formerly perfect yellow paint gain more than a few scratches and chips... and a few mismatched panels which had been outright replaced.

It had broken in nicely, and become as comforting and welcoming as an old leather sofa. One that packed enough firepower to worry a battletank. Flexing the manipulator glove, I smiled watching the steel fingers match my own movements.

Sylia ran through the plan while I checked out my motorslave, looking for any leaking fluids. It smelled of jet fuel, engine oil and raw steel… a thrilling mechanical smell that fired the soul. It was the oldest motorslave… originally built for Priss when she first joined, then re-painted yellow for me when she got her new one. It might've been a bit of a prototype still… but it had also picked up the most battle experience.

"We're ten minutes out," Mackie called back from the cab. "Aso expressway. No traffic."

"Good. Let's go."

A simple order from Sylia. Followed by a panicked warning from Nené.

"They're leaving the building! They're taking one of the trucks. Air support units are tracking it, trying to vector ground units in."

Sylia already had her helmet on, so I couldn't see her expression… but not even she could've expected that.

"Where are they?" she questioned.

"Just leaving the factory, heading North towards the expressway."

Brillaint. _Another_ high speed running battle. A moment's thought from the white hardsuit.

"We'll do this like the Veidt Industries raid three weeks ago. Stop the truck. Come in through the top. Neutralise the Guards. Rescue the hostages. Same roles as before."

Another plan… this one a little bit recycled but effective.

I placed my helmet on my head, waiting a few seconds for onboard diagnostics to complete themselves. A few stuck pixels in one corner annoyed, but otherwise everything seemed fine. A breath of filtered air, and I switched over into Saber mode.

The sides of the truck split open, the night outside rushing in to meet us.

There were always those few moments of anxiety before a mission… a flutter in the chest, a knot in the gut. They passed quickly. I was well used to this now… I was a skilled, professional hardsuited mercenary. I was just doing what I was paid to do.

Each of us started our 'slaves' engines, turbines whining as they spooled up. Data readouts flickered across my visor, a few errors highlighting themselves. I couldn't fly, thanks to the birdstrike damage not being fixed yet.

I could smell roast chicken as the engines ignited… even inside a sealed suit. It must've been my imagination.

The speakers in the helmet hissed.

"Knight Sabers, _sanjo!_"

That always brought a smile to my face. Priss and Linna hit the road first, tearing ahead into the night. Next, myself and Nené giving chase. Sylia followed, accelerating hard to take the lead. I chased, riding a quick thrill as the 'slave's velocity went past 200.

No traffic on the road, no problem.

"I'm patching in Police tracking data on the truck." Said Nené. "It's running away from the main ADP force, so it's coming closer to us. Aerial units are tracking, but cannot engage."

Its location appeared on my onboard Galileo map… 3:15 away, I estimated. Just about every ADP asset in the city was bearing down on them, but we'd get there first. We cut through the city with a practiced ease, pushing to speeds over 300kph at times, before braking down hard into a corner.

To anyone watching it would've looked epic… especially with a kickass soundtrack. To me, it was a routine excitement… a rush, yeah, but at the same time I'd done it more times than I could count. I rode with my visor up… unlike the others… It was easier for me. The visor had its place in combat, but at high speed, I'd learned to trust my own eyesight more.

We banked hard right, coming up behind the truck. I recognised it immediately as the one I'd noticed with the fresh tyres, and cursed myself for not thinking it was something important enough to tell anyone. It punched through traffic, sending a car spinning to the side of the road. It embedded itself in a bar.

"Target sighted," said Priss.

I flipped my visor down, blinking as I had to readjust to the lower resolution.

"Pink, jam their sensors," ordered Sylia. "Blue, get the trailer. Green, back her up. Yellow, stop the truck. I'll take the drivers."

So, just like the Veidt raid. Stopping an articulated truck was easy. I raced ahead, opening my slave's throttle to the maximum. Priss and Linna peeled off, aiming for the trailer door. Nené held back, while Sylia roared alongside me.

I glanced up at the truck's mirrors… the driver was a pixelated blur thanks to the hardsuit's own visor. Damn. The driver, though, he saw us just fine. With a howl from the tyres, the artic' lunged at us. In a heartbeat, I braked, dropping behind it. Sylia gassed it hard, turbines surging and spitting flames as she pulled ahead of the truck, bolting between lines of oncoming traffic.

The truck hit at red minivan head on, at a relative speed of nearly 160kph. The front end of the car exploded into shrapnel, scattering across the road. What was left of the car was sent flying through the air, landing on top of a parked jeep. Both were starting to burn as I flashed past.

The truck hit a second car, cleaving the front clear off and shunting it into my path. I got a good look at the terrified driver as I swore and jumped the heavy machine over the wreck, as the truck crunched over another car.

"This's insane!" Nené yelped.

Twenty tonnes was not slowing down. The driver's idea was obvious. We had to slow down to avoid the wrecks, he didn't.

"I think we're going to get the blame for this," commented Linna bitterly.

"Yellow, stop it now!"

Right… can't fly on this thing, not with the damaged turbine. I stared dead ahead, gritting my teeth, and picking my moment. Another wreck spun off, embedding itself in a shopfront. I opened the throttle wide, spearing forward, aiming right for the back of the cab. I swallowed bile and got ready to jump. Miss this and I went crunch under the wheels.

I waited half a heartbeat, and sprang forward on my thrusters. I didn't try and stop myself. I crashed hard into the back of the cab, leaving a dent in the metal and sending a shock through my shoulder. I could feel the diesel thrum of the engine rising through my armour.

The truck swerved to throw me off, crashing through something else. This was a bloody mess. Murdering bastard in the cab was deliberately running people down, just to throw us off. He had to be stopped. Fortunately, stopping a truck was easy.

I cut the air lines.

Immediately, the emergency brakes locked on, throwing me against the cab. The trailer pushed forwards, spinning the tractor around into a jacknife. Tyres screamed as the road tore at them. Momentum pushed the truck forward, crashing through traffic and shunting it aside.

It stopped with a lurch.

Priss punched through the roof a moment later, while Linna used the confusion to kill one of the boomers guarding the family. Priss blasted the second, Linna shot the third. Ten seconds after the truck stopped, the family were safe. A bit bruised and battered, but safe.

Killing the truck's drivers was just a formality for myself and Sylia. The cab was so mangled, they were wedged in by their legs. The two 55-c's couldn't do anything but rip halfway out of their disguises, then sit there and look mean as we blew their cybernetic brains out.

Distant sirens were racing towards us, a few of the choppers overhead fixing us with spotlights. Nené was busy marshalling the kids away from the truck to somewhere safe where they could be picked up by the cops, while I looked back at the trail of destruction it's half-minute rampage had created.

The mother was crying.

I just felt sick. Those who could were scrambling out of the wreckage; those who couldn't were either screaming for help, or were deathly quiet. A lot of people had just been needlessly hurt by a few seconds of brutal sanity from a boomer driver.

It was a calculated decision.

"Dammit," Priss spat.

We all shared the feeling.

"Head back to base," ordered Sylia, "Our job here is over, and we can do without the media circus."

**I… I**

It was a relief to get back to the panty drawer. A week of planning and preparation, ten minutes or so of a chase, thirty seconds of sheer brutality. Same as usual. We all sat in our hardsuits, helmets off, while Sylia went through the details of the mission.

"One thing we have to remember is that those people who died tonight didn't die because of us. We weren't the ones who turned the steering wheel on that truck." she told us. "The boomer driving would likely have used a similar tactic to evade the AD Police, who would likely not have been able to stop the vehicle without destroying it and the hostages."

Doesn't mean we feel good about it.

"We saved the hostages. We received our payment. Given the circumstances, I think we can call this the least-bad outcome."

Mix battleboomers with no regard for collateral damage, a densely populated city, and a lot of high explosive, people were always going to die. We couldn't stop that, we could just limit it. So it goes, I guess.

"Obasturito has been arrested for boomer law violations, and for fifteen counts of manslaughter. Thanks to some good work by Nené, the link between him and the kidnappers was made, and should stand up in court."

"The women at his bar?" Priss questioned.

"They'll be rehabilitated where possible."

And if not... humanity stops at the 70th percentile, so they weren't putting people asleep, they were just deactivating machines. That was such a fucking human thing to do.

That's why I was so afraid. That's what happens to me if I'm discovered. I get deactivated. I get retired. I get turned off. I do not get killed because I am not human, therefore I am not alive. If I'm not a living thing in the first place, how can I be murdered?

Humans have this unique ability to slaughter anything, so long as they can convince themselves that they're better than it, that it's beneath them, that it's less than human as if being human was the pinnacle of cosmic achievement.

Guess what?

Humanity sucks.

The battleboomer shooting up a shopping centre isn't responsible for his actions. It's not even sapient. It's the man in a lab coat who programmed it. The man in the suit who released it on the city. The man who told it to take children hostage, or drive a truck head-on through traffic. And then they turn around and say it wasn't 'me', it was the boomer. That's like blaming the gun for killing the person you just shot.

Mankind's a species that went and created a sentient lifeform... a thinking, feeling being... to use as a fuckdoll, because it was far more of a power kick to have a doll who obeyed because she understood the concept of suffering, than a doll who obeyed because she was programmed to.

If humanity was so nice and good, then why was I so afraid of being discovered? Why did I have nightmares of my friends turning into murderous monsters?

I'm so glad I'm not human.

Then what about my friends?

Aren't they human?

What will they do when they find out?

I just couldn't get past that.

I used to be one of them... I reminded myself. Or was I? Am I still that person now, or what? I am the boomer given a human's memories but am I...

The thought died like it was shot in the head. I am myself.

I stared at my armoured stomach, taking a long deep breath to watch the armour rise and fall and felt a quick thrill. I didn't want to take it off, I felt safer wearing it. It cosseted and comforted like an old blanket.

Nené almost figured out what I am. She definitely thought it, before blowing it away. Like she said, I act too human to be a boomer. And Priss? Sometimes, I wish I really could read people's minds.

I was so busy angsting away to myself, I hadn't noticed that the others had left.

"Is there a problem," Sylia asked me.

Not interrogating, just inquiring in a calm tone that encouraged me to speak. I looked around. I could hear the others in the shower.

"I had a weird experience on train, friday morning." I kept quiet about my real reason. "It was someone from Tet corporation,"

A little inaccurate, but the easiest way to explain it.

"Oh," her expression darkened. I wondered if she hadn't just been reminded that I wasn't just an 'ordinary' 33-S, She closed the briefing room door, locking us both in, "Alright, what did they want?"

Again, not interrogative. I was going to tell her anyway.

"His name was Ishmael," I told her. "He is something called a guardian and... I thought he was just fiction too," How do I explain this?

"Perhaps, start from the beginning then,"

And so I did. I delved into near year-old recollections of a fic called _Bubblegum Avatar_, explain as much of the details as I could, followed by why he'd scared the hell out of me on the train. Sylia accepted it all, as if I was just giving a normal mission report, which actually made it a hell of a lot creepier.

It told her about the Red and White, and the symbol that had been on the box. I told her about the orb we'd all assumed was just some trinket at the time, and how Ishmael believed it had been controlling Mason, rather than vice-versa.

"That is disturbing." Sylia commented. "What happened to it?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. It fell on the floor and rolled off,"

She frowned, then stared off at her own reflection on the darkened monitor. Silence followed, and I felt a wave of unease as I tried to figure out what she was thinking.

"Magic," she sighed, rubbing her temples. "That's what it amounts to," A pause. "For now it doesn't matter," she said. "Somebody was controlling Mason through this object. Someone who wanted to provoke him into attacking us, while giving him the strength to at least weaken us. " another beat. "Someone who wants to take control of GENOM. That someone will be whomever is appointed as Mason's successor."

Well, nice to know the hardest battles were yet to come.

"Who that going to be?"

She thought, "I do not know. There are at least fifteen possibilities."

Great.

Dark shadows looming over the city. Distant evils and world shattering… magic. It surprised me how well Sylia seemed to deal with the idea of a magic yellow ball of glass controlling people but then… she did deal with the idea of a man from another world suddenly finding himself as a sexaroid pretty well too.

It surprised me how much I didn't like being reminded of that.

"I don't think that's what was bothering you Meg," she said. "What is it?"

I wasn't sure how to even explain it. Best just to be out with it.

"I think Nené might be about to figure out what I am. And Priss," That didn't surprise her. "It's... scaring me,"

It made my stomach turn.

"Priss asked me about it the other day," Sylia said. "I told her..." Oh God no "... that your past is your own business, if you want to keep it private. How much do you know about Priss, or Nené or Linna yourself, Meg? "

"I know how they were recruited," I said, " I know Priss' boyfriend was murdered and the police didn't investigate it. Her parents died in the quake, and she was a bike ganger. I know Nené was a hacker who finished school early, and found your ad on the net. Linna was a dancer who couldn't get through an audition, and was about to give up on it before you found here. Her parents died too, but she dealt with it somehow"

"How much of that did they tell you themselves?" Ah...Well, Linna told me how she was recruited once. "Never mind that that barely scratches the surface of who they are. If you didn't see us in that animation, how much would you truly know about us? How much would you know about my motivations for starting this organisation?". She smirked, "How much do you know about me and what I am?"

All indicators pointed to human… but a human that was 'different' in a way I couldn't quite comprehend.

"Good point,"

"I told Priss that you've as much right to privacy over your past as she does,"

"Even when it's obvious it's constructed?"

"Yes," she nodded. "It's your decision whether you chose to reveal anything about yourself. You wouldn't trust me if I told her, would you Meg? The same as Priss wouldn't trust me if I talked about her past behind her back. A leader needs to be trusted, your secrets are your own to tell."

And the implication of that line, was that she thought I should tell them. I looked at her, shamefaced.

"I'm afraid," I said, trying to shrink down into my armour,

She frowned. "You can't think we'd hurt you,"

"No," I shook my head, "Not on purpose but…well… I …" My thoughts stalled. "It is… um… If Nené accidentally say wrong thing. It get me shot. And… there is big gulf between human and machine. I asked Nené what she though I was"… I stopped to compose this in my mind, "And she rattled off every reason why I not might be human. I thought she knew but… she kept saying I could not be boomer because I not act like boomer. Like she think boomer not capable of alive."

"Hmmm… for the vast majority of boomers, that is true."

I glared at her.

"I think therefore I am,"

"I didn't say that you aren't," she said. "I merely stated that the vast majority of boomers _are_ just machines. You're the exception that proves the rule,"

"I know," I grunted, feeling a rush of bitterness. "It just…"

I knew I was wrong and that revealing everything… at least that parts about me being made in a factory… would be for the best. I'm not a moron, I knew full well what fall I was setting myself up for. Just because I do all the armoured vigilante stuff, doesn't mean I'm not a coward. That fall was far in the future, the consequences of revealing my big secret happened today.

"…hard." I finished.

She gave me an almost disappointed look.

"It depends on how you explain it. You were human once?"

That depends on your philosophical viewpoint, and a whole load of metaphysical questions that I was in no way qualified to answer. I just stood there with my mind spinlocking on how to answer that.

"I have human memory," I stuttered out. My mind just wouldn't move forward from that. "But I know what I am,"

The answer that came back was always GENOM model Bu 33-S. It was a kludge, it felt like a kludge. I didn't think of myself as the same person I had been… but I still used I for those memories. And again, that thought crashed.

Somebody didn't want me thinking about myself in a philosophical manner.

Why didn't I notice it until recently? Could it really be just because I didn't want to think about it? Or might that just have a symptom?

"Meg," Sylia's voice snapped me out of it, her voice soft and concerned.

I looked up at her, feeling a tremor of fear deep inside me.

"It.. I see myself as a boomer, with human memories," I explained, "I am artificial, but I am alive. Being machine does not mean not living. But humans assume all machine are not living. Nené prove this by accident. It is just a machine." I scowled, "I am not 'it'. " A beat, "I'm afraid that they not see me as a person,"

And that was it.

While it could be said that the sudden revelation that I was a boomer could lead to an understanding that all boomers had the potential to be persons, I didn't think so. Friends or not, they were still human, and who better than me to know how humans would think? Human nature would win out. All boomers are 'things', therefore I am just a 'thing'.

They're all like that.

"You know what I am, how do you see me?"

A nasty card to play. Sylia didn't even have to think to answer.

"Having an artificial mind does not preclude someone being a person. I know this well myself,"

The exception that proves the rule about humans?

"How?"

"That's private," she smirked, almost mischievously. I figured because her father developed boomer tech, she'd know what he intended. "And if you can keep you secrets, I can keep mine,"

"Fine," I pouted. Before changing tack. "It's funny actually... I actually nearly forgot I came from a different universe. I didn't like being reminded of it by Ishmael."

"Your memory could be altered, if you'd like,"

For a moment, I thought she was actually being serious. For a moment, it was actually tempting… to be nothing more than Megatokyo Meg… before I shot the idea down.

Sylia chuckled quietly, assuring me it was a joke. She had such a screwy sense of humour sometimes. It was also disturbing… if I asked, she would do it. And if I did it, I'd probably never even know I'd done it.

"No," I shook my head, "And I think I'll keep my secret for the time being,"

"If you're sure." She definitely didn't agree with it.

"I am,"

That was that. My secret was safe. My secret would be the elephant in the corner. I got cleaned up with the others, promised to go out for drinks in a few days time, and schedule some maintenance with doctor Raven. Linna bragged about meeting some guy who was a 3-D artist, assuring us that he was the one. Priss was busy looking for a new venue to play. Nené was plotting to bring down the ADP mole. Mackie asked if I'd help him with a project of his, since I could interface directly with some technology. Sylia was mysterious and enigmatic, inviting us all to the ground-breaking for the new Lady633. Some outriders had been run over, notable only for the traffic jam that caused. The GENOM sponsored news reporter vilified the Knight Sabers for the night's carnage, while ADP insisted that this was the reason criminal investigations were best left to their investigators.

In finest Kei and Yuri tradition, it wasn't our fault.

The sun still came up the next morning. Genaros station still hung lazily in the sky at night.

Life went on in the big city.

I got home in time to catch the motorball highlights.

**I...I**

And done. I'd hoped to get this one done quickly... and it turned into a pain. Anyway, next chapter introduces Sylvie and Anri. And the reason I started this fic :)

-Dartz


	7. Dancing in the Moonlight

Yours Truly, 2032

Yet another BubbleGum Crisis SI.

100 page posting. It's not technically finished. And definitely not preread. Anyway, time to Rock and Roll...

Bubblegum Crisis...(c) Artmic/Youmix. I'm just borrowing this for a while, for some Fair Deal fun. Mmmkay?  
7:Dancing in the Moonlight

**I...I**

Flames belched from the stacks of the refinery below, scorching the night sky. Megatokyo was laid out in front of me, a beautiful carpet of fairy-lights illuminating the bottoms of the clouds above. I looked at my own reflection in the cockpit window… my own face incongruous still on top of the yellow-painted hardsuit.

My eyes.

My hair.

Myself, the artificial being given a human's memory.

Sylia was congratulating us on another job well done. Another few million in the bank courtesy of the White Star Trading corporation, which meant my own pet project could be finally finished and tested. I banked the Knightwing over the city, aiming the nose at GENOM Tower for a few seconds.

It was the base of a pillar of light that reached for the stars. My gaze followed it upwards, until it dissolved into the yellowish afterglow of the city beneath.

A streak of light flashed through it… a shooting star?

I shrugged my shoulders, and began a slow turn back to the re-opened Lady633. It wasn't worth worrying about.

Below, the streets were almost empty. If somebody down below looked up, they'd see a corporate Valkyrie making a late night run. I pushed it down low below any radar, checked my instruments, and signalled to Lady633's auto-systems to prepare for a landing. It was all automatic, almost instinctive.

I was programmed to pilot.

**I…I**

News: "_Today's main story. The United States government has formally protested to the Soviet Union over the placement of missiles in…"….._click….. Gameshow: "_Try your luck, Spin to W__in!" _….click…. Cartoon:_"Shoot him now! Shoot him now!"_….click….News: "_…omsday clock may be moved to 1 mi..." _...click….MTV:" …_we take a look at upcoming acts on the Tokyo club scene…" _…..click….. Film:"…i_x shots or only five? Well, to tell you the truth, __in…" _….click…. Ad: "…bservation deck at the _World Trade Centre. Sponsored by Tourism New Yo…_" ….click…. Animé: "…_lass. Anfang der Bewegung, bestätigt. Anfang des Nervenanschlusses, bestätigt. Anfang näc…_" …..click….. News: _"…SD spokesman declared that the __satellites are safe. That it was impossible for them to co…." _….click…Documentary: _"…peka monorail, named Bla…" _….click….Music: "Don't close you're heart, you don't have to face the night alone"...click... entertainment: "…_dliest ADvanced Police videos. Vi__ewer discretion is advised_…" ….click…. News again: "_…egaTokyo midday news. A shuttle crashed last night near Hakone, the SDPC are investigating the incident, in cooperation with the ADPolice. No casualties have been reported as of yet, it is believed the s__huttle was unmanned."_

I dropped the remote…

_They_ were here.

A cold January sun rose above the city I'd been calling my home for nearly a year. I walked over to the window of my apartment, looking inland towards the snow-covered mountains.

An airliner screamed overhead, banking and heading west over the ocean. A few choppers flitted between the towers. I could see a news chopper chasing a police helicopter along one of the main highways.

Somewhere in the city beneath me, they were out there. Anri and Sylvie.

What am I going to do?

I really didn't know. I promised Sylia a long time ago that I wouldn't use my future knowledge to screw with anything. I understood why that was necessary and I'd kept that promise. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred it hadn't mattered… I knew as much about our clients or our jobs as anyone else.

The Gibson thing was one where it did… but I swear to God it was Mackie's idea to build the Highway Star to use my data interfaces, not mine. Which meant that I had to ride the thing… and since I couldn't wear a hardsuit while hard-linked to it, I couldn't be the one who jumped onto Gibson's Griffon. What we ended up doing was some sort of crazy slipstreaming thing… with Priss chasing me on her motorslave. It worked out the same in the end… except since I didn't have to jump off the Highway Star, I didn't end up toasting it either.

It had been fun… to control the machine with my mind. To feel the buzz of that rotary Vee engine as much a part of my own body as the beating of my heart. I loved what I was… I really did.

My own bike had been finished, over a month behind schedule thanks to a busted nanofab. But, it had been worth it. The big blue machine had been reborn… turbocharged engine growling and snarling like a low flying bomber through it's short, unsilenced exhaust.

The end result was something of a beast. Comparing it to Priss bike was a bit like comparing a Pontiac GTO, to a Ferrari GTO. Sure her Ferrari was a hundred times better… but there was something about the raw mechanicalness of the big K that appealed to me.

Most of all… even after being rebuilt for the second time, and having just about every component bar the frame altered in some way, the old bike still managed to feel much the same.

A link to a life I'd left behind nearly a year ago and now was starting to have trouble remembering.

I rolled into work as I usually did. I made sure the new boomer was learning its job properly from the old ones while they dressed the stage. With Ken being a little tired lately, I'd started taking on more of a managerial role… filling ledgers, balancing books, and making damn sure people showed up on time for work. I even had a set of keys to the doors.

I got more money and a bit more flexibility for the trouble. Especially since some days Ken didn't even show up anymore.

_The Replicants_ were back playing where they belonged after a long fuss between Ken and Priss was resolved by me just going behind his back and agreeing to their pay demands. Of course Ken had been pissed, but that passed when we tallied up the night's takings and found that even with the extra cash going to the band…. Near twice what we normally paid… profits had still jumped up.

Even the tip jar was noticeably heavier.

Priss was on the stage, all was right with the world. Linna and Nené were naturally present in the crowd, they followed the _Rep_'s almost everywhere.

My own background had…thankfully… been left as a bit of an elephant in the corner … a year of fighting had bought me enough trust for it to stay in the corner. I had a feeling Nene was bothered by it from time to time still, and I knew Priss didn't like it.

I was cleaning glasses as _Konya wa Hurricane_ ended….Priss thanking the crowd for the rapturous welcome home.

It was only as they finished their _T__ime what is Time _cover that I started to think about Sylvie and Anri again. A song about the original replicants, from _Blade Runner._ About Rachael, who didn't even know she was a skin-job.

It hurts to know, aren't we machines?

I sighed and got back to work. Another good thing about being...effectively... management, was that I didn't have to fill in if one of the other girls was sick anymore. I didn't have to wear a skirt and t-shirt with my name on it, or deal with customers hooting and whistling after me.

I was thinking about my ride on the Highway Star.

The bike had become a physical part of my body, as much a piece of me as my own arms or my legs. I throttled the engine with barely a thought, the same way I gripped my hand into a fist. Gearshift with a flash of a cybernetic synapse. I was the machine travelling at five hundred kph.

And Nené still wondered how my brain could take the strain.

I watched the revellers on the dance floor below... all of them ordinary human beings. I smiled at them and joked with them. I teased a few of them from time to time. They thought I was one of them.

I knew I wasn't.

I hadn't been since the night I woke up in a bed in Sylia's penthouse. Something had changed since I rode that bike, and I couldn't put my finger on it. It wasn't because it was an inhuman thing to do... I'd done plenty of things just like it.

Or was it the biomimetic I saw gunned down. I heard the shots, then she crashed through a window in a spray of blood, wearing nothing but black lingerie. A shopfront model that'd done a runner. I thought she was just another human until I saw the metal in her back, through a bullet's exit wound.

"Got it," said the cop who shot her. Just another trooper.

"You murdered her," I said to him, before I could catch myself.

"What? It's just a skin-job," he snarked back, "It's not like it had real feelings,"

What did he know? I had real feelings. I got the hell out of there before he got a second retirement for the day. The boomer girl was bagged, and pulled into the back of a van looking like a mannequin.

I don't want to die like that. Neither did she. She was running. She'd been _afraid._

I'd seen my fair share of death. Megatokyo could be a brutal place to live at times, even before you add my part-time job into the equation.

Crunchy cops meet battle boomers, it was always messy. Innocents got caught in the crossfire. But something about that one boomer girl got at me. She was just a basic model biomimetic, of the kind normally used to model clothes at high-end department stores. Emotionless dolls.

And she'd been afraid.

She spontaneously developed feelings of her own... maybe the beginnings of a conscience. And they gunned her down as a defective machine.

Two nights later, I blew a 55-C to bits and wondered about it. I'm sure there was an irony in there. I saw the trooper again... what was left of him. Crunch. Karma?

I did my best to put it out of my mind. But it was hard to know that the only difference between herself and be that she got caught. They knew she was a boomer. Those people who smiled at me, or thanked me for a drink... or drunkenly grabbed my ass would scream and run if they knew what I was. They'd call for the police, and they'd be glad when I was dead.

Quite an experience to live in fear.

That's what it means to be a boomer. Afraid that my friends would turn on me if they knew the truth. Afraid that I'd be chased through the streets and gunned down as just another busted skin-job.

"Hey Meg," Linna dragged me back to the here and now, "Bacardi and Coke... and the house red,"

"Where's Nené?"

"Busy trying to get a date, " she giggled, "She's hopeless." She looked down at my chest and laughed again, "Your t-shirt's hilarious by the way, where'd you get it?"

It read 'Who needs these when you've got brains like mine?', a brilliant subversion of something I saw some wannabee Barbie-doll wearing at New Year's.

"Internet," I shrugged, "I've got a couple of them,"

"He said No!" Nené wailed, making her arrival known before pulling herself up onto a stool, "They all said I was under age. I'm eighteen!"

"Now now," Linna soothed, "You should be glad you look a few years younger than you are. Everyone always mistakes me for twenty-five,"

I slid the Bacardi towards her

"Yes... but when they think you're fourteen. I swear the next person to make Catholic jokes is going to die. I'm Russian Orthodox!" she announced, banging the still full glass on the table, spilling half.

Drunken Nené was fun Nené.

"1850 yen," I said, getting on with my job, laughing under my breath.

Linna paid. "So Meg," she said, not letting me get away, "What did you end up doing with that guy you went home with the other night,"

"Just this and that," I answered, before getting on with my job.

Well, he met all the requirements I'd set out, and it was fun to let off the brakes of my abilities for a bit. They squee'd at the implication... Nené just looking even more despondent.

"Is this the start of a budding romance?" asked Linna as I came back past.

"He was only in town for the night... unfortunately,"

"Too bad. He was sweet."

I had Isildore collect empties, dealt with someone who insisted they should get a free drink because someone knocked theirs over, called the cops on someone caught spiking drinks, called a taxi for the result. Someone got sick on the dancefloor, which had to be cleaned up by one of the boomers, we ran out of parfait and I spent ten minutes beating the shit out of a cooler in the cellar that packed up.

It was an ordinary night.

_The Replicants_ finished their set a half hour later than planned, not that anyone complained. They finished up with some of their older 'Fuck Genom' stuff.

Priss didn't join the two other Saber's at the bar... I think one of the Batty's had just become a father, and they were all having a piss-up downstairs to celebrate.

Nené and Linna didn't wait, they left shortly after the show. I had to ask the band to leave at 4am so I could lock up and get to bed. I took a look outside, noticing frost glistening on the footpaths, and decided it'd be safer if I just walked home in my work clothes.

Oh well, at least I had a pair of knee-high, high-heeled boots to keep my legs warm, despite the miniskirt and well-patched denim jacket that only had one button left across the chest.

An unnatural body temperature of 39 degrees helped keep the cold mostly at bay.

The homeless slept in the alleys, huddled inside boxes, dumpsters and wrapped in weeks worth of newspapers and old clothes. Some would be dead come morning. So it goes. Distant gunshots clattered through the night, mixed with the high wail of a siren. ADP were having fun. Most of the city's underbelly was happily staying indoors.

A car pulled up alongside me. Not again.

"Hey there," a voice called out from inside, "How much?"

"Fuck off!" I yelled at the driver.

It was funny the first time. Now it was just tiring.

"Well don't wear clothes like that ya slut."

Tires squealed as the car peeled away into the night. I gave the driver the finger and sighed. I probably should've changed before I left work, but walking any distance in full leathers is a pain.

More annoying than the occasional proposition for sex?

The worst part of it... it _was _occasionally tempting. It would be money for something I could do as easy as breathing... a lot of money if I played my cards right. But, I had enough common sense to know that the sort of person who'd pull over, pick up a woman on a dark alley and pay for sex, was not the sort of person to get into a car with alone.

That, and it was illegal, could get me arrested, and could get me discovered as a boomer.

04:32:29, and I crossed the threshold of my home, having slogged up the stairs thanks to a frozen lift.

I wondered for a moment, where out in the city Sylvie and Anri were sleeping. What was their first night of freedom like?

**I...I**

08:00:00.

I was awake like a switch. I'd been dreaming about something, but the memory had already decayed. Heavy clouds over the city were glowing a sickly orange thanks to the city's lights.

They brightened a little as the sun came up, but still hung oppressively low. I washed a day's worth of sweat and city grime off my body, before fetching my usual breakfast mixed with the little diet supplements my body demanded.

I left the radio on.

"_Here is the __news, coming at you live, on the hour every hour. Spaceworkers dispute at Haneada today. A lightning strike by air shuttle officers leading to over 2,000 passengers being held up for up to 10 hours to board flights."_

I was getting dressed...

"_The SDPC is__ continuing it's investigation into the incident at Genaros yesterday. The station sustained minimal damage and will be fully operational within twelve hours. Knock-on delays are still affecting orbital flights,"_

... wondering where I'd left my leathers, before remembering I'd left them with the bike at work.

"_Driver J.B. Gibson, responsible for multiple injuries over the course of a two month rampage with his Griffon sports car, was sentenced today to five years imprisonment, and banned from driving for __ten years. The Judge justified the light sentence, citing the unusual mitigating circumstances of the case."_

Well, you don't send over a hundred people to the hospital and get away with it.

"_Three people died last night..." _I paid close attention "... _in__ a traffic collision on the Taro Aso expressway. The families of the dead have been informed,"_

Statistically, you were more likely to die on Megatokyo's roads, than at the hands of a boomer.

"_Irene Chang, sister of deceased pop Icon Reika, has announced __that she will be launching an album in March, featuring new songs recorded both by herself, and her sister before her death. Irene has said, The songs deserve to be heard, and Vision's fans deserve to hear them."_

That's nice. I'm glad she's getting back on her feet.

"_That was the headlines. Next bulletin at ten am. And now back to Tohru's Talk,"_

No Sylvie and Anri. No vampire murders. I looked out my window, across Tokyo bay, and wondered where they where. What was I going to do when I found them?

I really didn't know.

That question sat right at the front of my mind while I cleaned up. Some kids were thumping around in the corridor outside, playing cops and boomers. Rush hour traffic filled the city streets.

10:15:47 am was as good a time as any to do my weekly grocery shopping. Cheap, store brand stuff, a stack of those diet supplements, nothing more than the essentials.

Should I even search for them?

Just 2 people in however many millions in the greater Megatokyo area, and the only clue to their location was that the DD was kept in a junkyard down the fault.

Which isn't a small place to search.

I started to run through Episode 5 in my mind. Alright so, they escape from the station and... how long does it take Leon to start investigating the murders?

No answer.

When does Sylvie meet Priss?

No answer.

The DD is stored somewhere in the fault. It's got a forcing neutron bomb booby trap, wired into some synchronising AI. Which all exists solely to make Priss shoot Sylvie.

Their apartment. I don't know.

I knew they'd show up in _Hot Legs_ eventually, at least Sylvie would. But by then, would it be too late? How long from then until the GPCC raid?

And then Sylvie gets killed and Anri survives. Was Largo in this episode, or the next?

Thing is, while I still remembered the jist of things, I didn't have the gift of an eidectic memory. It'd been a long time. I hadn't even realised it was time for Gibson's Griffon Rampage until I saw the Highway Star... three days beforehand, when Mackie wanted to test something.

I got home, checked a few work-related messages, agreed to a game at Survival- Shot on Sunday with the other four, and generally got on with my day. I dressed for work, wearing proper clothes this time, and headed off to open the bar.

Evening news.

No vampire murders.

Nothing in the newspapers.

Things were set up for the night. Crowds filtered in to see _Inazuma Kikku_, and I ended up being so busy that I just couldn't think about it. They were an alright band, building up their own following now.

The weather was a little better, so I rode home that night.

Should I do anything? I thought back to Sho's mother, and what Sylia had told me about jeopardising the entire organisation to save one life. I didn't even know _how _to save them.

I mean, I couldn't just walk up to Sylia and ask her, could I?

The question from the other three. Why does Meg want to save a sexaroid boomer?

And I couldn't answer that without saying that I was a sexaroid too. The mere thoughts of that had me going through a loop.

To be brutally honest, that scared me more than just letting them die. I just couldn't get past it.

If I ask for help from Sylia... then what I am comes out.

And in anyways, what could I do on my own?

I barely slept that night. I just lay in my bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to work something out in my mind.

**I...I**

Next Day.

In my old life, it would've been my birthday. It was an odd shock not to have a birthday present waiting for me. I shrugged as I left my apartment, I wasn't that person.

I walked to the rebuilt Lady 633. It looked much the same as it had been before Mason's attack. The bottom floor was filled by the Silky Doll lingerie store... above that, a mezzanine which housed a parisienne café. The croissants where nice... but expensive.

Above them, some brand new office space, hidden behind mirrored glass. Some of the new apartments had balcony's, where the reasonably well off could look down on the peons below.

The central tower, which had originally been destroyed by that 12-B, had been rebuilt to be much larger, acting as the structural spine of the building. Floor trusses radiated out, joining with the curtain walls. The floorspace inside was impressive.

The tower also hid the launchpad for the Knightwing. It launched Thunderbird style, right up the centre of it.

"Morning Meg," Mackie greeted from behind the counter. "Sylia's waiting for you,"

"Thanks," I flashed him a smile, making a point not to push any off his buttons. Well, not on purpose… I had my sunglasses on.

There was a lift in back, through the storeroom. Though not actually a secret, it was hidden from public view by cardboard boxes of silken lingerie. I really should wear that body-hugging teddy more often. It made Mackie's brains dribble through his nose the last time.

It was certainly a hell of a lot better than the cheap cotton crap I normally wore.

I pressed my thumb against the down button. Pressed it again when it stuck on the tenth floor, then pressed it a third time because it was taking its sweet bloody time.

It opened with an electric chime. I checked there was nobody following me, stepped inside and pushed the door-close button. I pressed my thumb against the floor indicator, unlocking a few undocumented features Sylia had added to the lift.

Push the right buttons, and it took me down to the Saber's secret base.

Having a proper base was so much better than running out of The Panty Drawer. It might've been functional, but it still smelled like a metro station, was drafty and damp, and home to more than a few rats.

By contrast, the new base was clean and spacious, the warm air scented with forest fruits and machine oil. We had a briefing room, fully appointed in pastel colours, with a sumptuous leather sofa, cinema-definition 3D projector, ten-speaker sound system and some of the best food in town. We had a proper medical bay, capable of handling most injuries, including diagnostic equipment to repair me.

In back, past racks storing all five motorslaves and the new launch-tubes for the hardsuits, was the main workshop. Standing waiting for me was a hardsuit.

Of sorts. It was a specially built piece of test-hardware, lacking armour, weapons or most major tactical systems. It was a stub, a stand-in for an actual hardsuit to test project L4-RG0. Sylia didn't want to risk blowing an actual suit's systems, so this scaffold-like thing was constructed instead out of spare parts. Most of the linear motors were exposed, frame and chassis elements were still in a primer-green. The only armour fitted, were a few pieces across the chest, the feet below the knee and on the hands forearms. Only what was necessary for the test. It'd get torn to pieces in actual combat.

It sole reason for existence was mounted on its back.

A 5 foot long matte black rectangle, with a silver machined receiver and trigger assembly, and a pair of brass power hookups. A pair of cables ran to a battery pack strapped to the back of the suit.

"Good morning Meg," Sylia greeted… dressed as elegantly as ever under a labcoat. "The coil fab' completed itself last night."

"Sweet," I smirked.

"They just have to be installed and tested."

Oh yes. This was to Priss' dart throwing railguns what a Barrett Rifle was to a handgun. Sylia's idea, it was the culmination of months of research, design work, simulations and custom machining on my part.

"The simulations looked good. Do you think it'll work first time?"

It took 4 days to run a simulation on my old laptop. It took about 30 seconds to run it on Sylia's mainframe. We'd run hundreds of tests in cyberspace, refining the design after each and every one.

"Real life always throws up a few slight glitches," she said, "But the design is sound." A cringe as she manipulated a 3D model of it. "A little ugly maybe, but functional."

Sylia Stingray, ever the fashion designer.

"So long as it works when the time comes,"

That time being a few weeks from now, when Largo is standing in Quincy's office, and I'm standing on the loading ramp of the KnightWing, 3 kilometres away with his head in my sights. That was Sylia's plan. We'd be far enough away that he'd never see it coming until his braincase exploded. He'd have no chance to dodge, no chance to catch it, no chance to target us with an orbital particle cannon. Just headshot, then boom.

"And the time is coming," stated Sylia, her expression hardening a little. "What do you plan to do, Meg?"

"What? I plan on just shooting him, like we discussed."

I spectacularly missed what she'd been asking me.

"Not about Largo. I know you pay attention to the news."

"Oh," My blood chilled. "Well I…" I looked at the floor for a second, feeling an odd thrill of fear. "I've been busy so haven't actually given it much thought. I haven't decided anything."

The second part was true. She took a deep draw of breath.

"Meg, do you remember what you promised me when you joined? You promised to treat things as they came to you, as if you knew nothing at all."

I just nodded softly, swallowing a little.

"That you wouldn't use your knowledge to interfere with or change future events without my permission?"

In other words, in the nicest possible way, she was warning me against doing anything at all to save Sylvie and Anri. My first thought, so it's okay to let a pair of sexaroids die, isn't it? After all, they're not human. But I knew Sylia well enough to know that she wasn't even thinking about that. Given the choice between saving Sylvie's life…. or killing Largo and saving the entire planet, she was making the logical choice.

The needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few.

It was the same cold equation the Knight Sabers always ran on.

"Right, right,"

I could've made an argument about it… about how Sylvie's death would devastate Priss, or how they were boomers like me who deserved a chance at a normal life. But, they were only two people. If I tried to save them, I could screw the pooch so badly I could hand victory to Largo. Right now, as it was, events would unfold as they had in animation as if I hadn't changed them. 2 people would die and Largo would be destroyed.

The only difference between them and maybe a hundred others who'd been allowed to die…. I knew their story. I knew more about them than just their names. I shared parts with them.

I gave her a bitter look for a moment. I _understood_ why things had to be this way. Since Sho's mother…. I'd grown used to things like this. They happened. That didn't mean I had to _like_ it.

I took a deep breath, accepted that... and focused on fitting the field coils to the rifle. It was exciting to see it come together at last, having grown from a wire-frame model in ProEngineer, through to a Finite element model, to a plastic prototype printed on a 3D printer, to the final finished piece.

All 27 kilograms of it.

It weighed half as much as myself almost. But I could lift it. I could wrap my hand around a grip designed for a hardsuit's fingers, and squeeze the electronic trigger.

It clicked and I smirked.

It smelled of metal and machine-oil with a faint whiff of hot plastic and soldering flux. And I built it. Just myself, using my own knowledge, research and technical ability. There was something wonderfully satisfying about it.

Five half-kilogram keiyurium darts searing through the air riding a burning cloud of carbon plasma satisfying. The rendered simulations had looked epic.

I'd have to wait two days to test it. Work responsibilities got in the way, and Sylia wanted tomorrow for Survival Shot, while I had to get to work early to make sure some new sound equipment was delivered. Still, it was nice to know that when Largo did appear, he could be dealt with. He would be dealt with.

The band in Hot Legs that night was _Ford Sierra and the Cosworths._ They were alright. Nothing spectacular. Life went on. I didn't have time to think about what Sylia had said, I was too busy.

There were no vampire murders in the news. Someone got stabbed, and 2 people died in a hit and run accident on the bayshore route.

Again. No big deal.

I went to bed, and tried to get some sleep. That failed. I just couldn't shut down and stop thinking. About the two other sexaroids out there somewhere in that city. About Sylia's order… to just let them die.

It was logical. If we do nothing, then nothing changes. If nothing changes, we catch Largo at the Tower. We kill Largo. Easily. Largo dies, 2 people die, millions live. The Sabers ran on that logic. Cold and awful, but undeniable. I always felt bad about it…. but never _this_ bad.

It never bothered me to the point where I'd have trouble sleeping over it.

What was the difference? The difference between them, and every other person who had died?

It wasn't that I knew their names, or their backstory… or that they were such tragic heroines. It was because I'd read fanfics where they'd been specifically saved, or because 'It was the right thing to do'.

Laying on my bed, I looked at my feet poking through the end of blankets, wiggling my toes. They looked human. Indistinguishable to the naked eye. Or to bare fingers.

But.

I was anything but. I felt it with every fibre of my being.

The difference between all those people, and Sylvie and Anri. All those people were nothing but humans. Sylvie and Anri were 33-S boomers.

Just like me.

**I...I**

I was giddy with fatigue as the delivery truck was unloaded. Humans got tired, I started to get a little bit hyper… just a little peculiar as my electrolytes got all skewed up. Just a friendly reminder that I'd more in common with the metal machines unloading the truck, than I had with it's driver.

"Thank you ma'am," he smiled at me as I signed the papers. "Say….I'm going to need to get a contact phone number here. Can I have yours?"

As usual. He'd probably run right to the cops if he knew what I really was.

I answered with a charged smile, "Sorry mate. Too busy,"

The driver rumbled off in his truck to his next delivery, while I got back to my job. I directed the dumbly intelligent boomers as they went about shifting all the new gear backstage. They were smart enough that you could order them to move something 'backstage', and they'd be able to figure out how to do it themselves.

They were light years ahead of a robot that could only do exactly what it was programmed to do. Most people didn't understand that… they just wondered why their robot or computer couldn't figure out what was 'obvious' on it's own. Boomers could…

To a point.

Most humans would call the basic models idiots. But they were idiots on a 'human' scale.

They had quirks and foibles, things that might be called the beginning of a personality. Usually they picked them up from their owners, mimicking and parroting and learning from them the same way they learned other tasks.

Of course, they were still 'just machines'. They had no sapience, no understanding of themselves and that they actually existed as individual beings.

Unless they broke. Like that store mannequin. In effect born fully grown. She'd panicked. She was afraid… afraid of being shot… afraid of dying. To be afraid of death, did she have to understand that she was alive?

The crime is life, the sentence is death.

All those people who smiled at me every day, who'd talk to me, who'd make the odd pass at me… how many of them would be so friendly if they found out what I really was? How many of them would pull the trigger in righteous disgust themselves?

They'll kill me because as far as they're concerned, I'm a defective machine. Couple that with my unique abilities…. To some people I'm a nightmare.

I finished early, since I'd been in early, and took the metro to Survival Shot. On a crowded train, I never felt so alone and alien. I should've gotten some bloody sleep, it's making me go all screwy and angsty.

"You're being stupid, Meg," I told my reflection in the window. I was just being a paranoid. I snatched a can of energy drink, but it didn't help much. Priss' bug-eyed sportsbike was parked up outside, having just been fixed up by Raven. I still don't know why she liked that thing.

I crossed the lobby to a lift, getting the usual admiring glances. Some poor sod was stuck in the lift with me all the way up. He nearly bled to death through his nose when I unzipped my jacket.

Well, it was stuffy in there. And it was nice to see my mischievous streak hadn't been completely smothered. The doors rumbled open after an electronic chime. Linna's voice chased them.

"...he works for EMI!"

"I'll bet he's just a sound technician," Nené dismissed it with a wave.

"It's better than _no_ boyfriend,"

"I'm saving myself!" the pink-haired girl squealed. "For that one true love, that one prince for my princess self..."

"The prince of Dorkness," snarked Priss.

Nené turned on her Watery Puppy Eyes, "Why do you always have to tease me?"

"It's what we do!" Linna gave her a mischievous grin.

I giggled.

"Meg!" Nené searched for reinforcements, "You know what it's like... to be saving yourself for that one right person. To withhold yourself from all temptation,"

"I don't get tempted, just annoyed."

Between siding with the others, or siding with Nené… I chose the third option. It was easier than squishing Nené who was just trying to make herself sound all grownup and mature. Linna and Priss were demonstrating that they were still in their teens.

"What a shame to waste such a nice body on someone so cold," Linna groused.

"I'm not cold, I just have standards,"

I flashed her a grin, demonstrating that I could still stoop to their level. She pursed her lips and stuck out her tongue. A flash of jealousy stung the air. It helped me relax a little. I was among friends.

Friends who'd turn on me in a moment if they knew the truth.

I shot that thought in the head before it could crush my good feelings

"Well," she drew herself up, looking haughtily down on me, "I think it's best to seize the moment,"

"You sure do seize a lot of them," sniggered Priss.

The dancer put her hands on her hips. "How am I supposed to know the right one to keep then, eh?"

Priscilla gave a laconic shrug. "You do,"

"So that's why you haven't given Leon the heave ho yet?"

She scowled, "No, he just hasn't gotten the message yet,"

Yeah right, and I'm a kangaroo. I knew enough about Priss to know that, if she didn't want Leon around, she'dve near castrated him with her boot, a long time ago.

We chatted for a few minutes, waiting for Sylia to finish making her arrangements so we could have the building to ourselves. Priss didn't say a word about Sylvie. Nené said nothing about any vampire murders. Linna didn't shut up about her cow-pattern sweater, while I made the case for cheap-arse well-worn denim and a t-shirt emblazoned with the phrase _Rukkuappu! _Priss loved her leathers, while it was generally agreed that Nené looked her best in uniform.

Sylia was elegant as ever in a bare-midriff business suit, with a designer leather handbag hanging from her shoulder, and real pearls around her neck.

"Well," she said, "I've managed to secure the sole use of the arena for the next three hours. I think, myself, Nené and Linna, against Priss and Meg… especially after the last time,"

I frowned and sighed to myself. "Well… not like I planned to use money I saved for anything else,"

Priss just looked sour.

**I…****I**

Nené died in a hail of gunfire, red splotches bursting across her chest, staining the green fatigues she was wearing. She dropped to the ground with a yelp of fright, landing awkwardly on her arse.

"Ow..." she rubbed at it, "Not again,"

Priss blew the imagined smoke off the end of her weapon's barrel, and reloaded the mock-uzi. We left our victim to lie there sulking on the cold concrete for a minute, while we pushed on deeper into the shoot-house.

She pointed to a doorway at the end of the corridor.

I nodded, sprinting forward. My heart raced with my footsteps. I winced, trying to run as quietly as I could. A few heartbeats, and I ducked into the doorway, checking the room beyond quickly, before signalling to Priss to move up.

Covering her, aiming ahead down the corridor, I waited until she'd dashed past, and stopped at a staircase about five metres ahead. She beckoned me on, aiming her machine-pistol up the stairs.

I ran up, stopping for half a second to listen. I raised my hand. Both of us held our breath's. I could hear Nené, still mumbling to herself a few meters away. Above, I could pick out one set of footsteps, crunching on the concrete… _someone _was turning around. Priss took a breath.

Smell. Engine oil and exhaust from Priss, sweat from myself, concrete dust, my own sweat. I could just about pick up Linna's perfume on a draft that came down the stairs. Sylia… no sign.

I gave Priss a curt not and stepped up, training my own automatic electric gun towards the top of the next flight of stairs. Nothing but concrete. Again, I held up my hand, signalling for Priss to wait.

Another check. Again, a light waft of Linna's perfume, chased by a gentle pheromone tingle. A little nervous anticipation, like she was expecting something. Where was she?

I beckoned Priss up to my level with a quick signal. Quietly, she crept up the stairs beside me.

"I'll go," I mouthed soundlessly

Slowly, silently, I went up, step by step. She was there, _somewhere. _My heart pounded in my ears, a hunters thrill flaring in my veins. I could smell my prey nearby… waiting for me in ambush.

Bloody campers.

Was she to the left, or to the right?

Priss came up beside me.

"Where?"

"Not sure. "

"Go left, I go right."

We didn't actually speak aloud. I nodded sharply. Her red eyes were focused like a laser. Grimly, the pair of us stepped up. What if Sylia was laying in ambush, using Linna as a decoy? Nené's yelp had almost certainly alerted her. Tripwires, traps? What was on the floor?

A sheet of cardboard at the top of the stairway looked like it had been disturbed.

I pointed to it, and sliced at my neck with my finger. Priss nodded. Possibly a mine, avoid it to be safe. I couldn't see anything pinned to the walls, anything that could hid a tripwire in anyways.

Priss held up three fingers. I nodded. Go on the count of three

Two…

One..

Holding my breath, I crouched low and swung out into the corridor. I saw nothing. Behind me, Priss hadn't shot. Slowly, I edged forward a meter or so, to a joining corridor.

And spotted the reflection of Linna in a broken window. She'd been using it to watch the stairs. A look of shock broke across her face as she realised she'd been spotted.

Shit!

Crouching low, I spun around the corner, squeezing the trigger of the electric gun. The motor inside whined and spat cold paint pain in her direction. Little red splotches burst across her shorts, rising up to her chest.

She shot simultaneously, paint-filled BB's whipping over my head where she thought I'd be standing. They broke across the wall behind and beside me. Red paint splashed on my cheek, making me wonder why we weren't wearing goggles.

Linna gave me a bitter glare as she sat down against the wall, as if she could tell I was cheating. Well, I was using my boomer senses to my own advantage…. There was no way in hell I was paying for _two_ meals in a row. Besides, the teams were totally unfair.

I gripped my fist, and signalled for Priss to take the lead a head of me. The dancer on the ground stuck out her tongue at us as we breezed past.

Covering each other alternately, Priss and myself moved forwards to the end of the corridor, stopping either side of a broken window. Two down, one to go. The hardest one.

I listened once more. Something that might've been a stick cracked nearby… I couldn't place it. Again, I started to edge forward, moving up to an intersection which led in two directions. I stopped at the corner, calling Priss up.

"Left," she suggested.

"Right," I nodded.

She gave me a weird look. I shrugged and followed her as she ran dashed out into the corridor, while I covered. She stopped in a doorway, checking the room, before motioning for me to check the next.

A draft of expensive perfume... but an empty room.

We reached the end.

Nothing but a junction.

"Stay together," I whispered, "She want us to split up,"

"Obviously... get my back, Meg."

Priss' excitement flared hot, drowning out anything else. Frustrating, but she couldn't help it.

"Standard clearance?"

"You know it."

Move forward, check a room... move out. Avoid debris on the floor which could hide mines. A crack on the wall could hide a tripwire. And thanks to an experience with a devious GM, I knew that the ceiling could hide just as many dangers.

The less we found, the more unnerving things got.

Being the hunter was fun. Being the hunted, less so.

Next room. Nothing but the gentlest pheromone hint that she'd once been there... that unique inhumanely human signature of hers. Not long ago if I could still get it.

"She's near," I whispered through my teeth.

Priss was sweating litres on her forehead.

"Where?"

She didn't ask how I knew.

"Can't tell. Listen,"

I held my breath. Nothing but a light air-conditioner breeze. No footsteps, no crack of a disturbed twig. Sylia was standing dead still, waiting for us somewhere... she couldn't be far away.

I swallowed a lump, breathing lightly, and shook my head gently. Priss gave a frustrated grunt, holding her electric gun close.

"Well cover the floor."

"She was here,"

Priss glowered "But she _isn't_ now,"

"But very recent," I pleaded, "We would've seen her leave. I would've _heard her..."_

Unless.

Both of us slowly turned our heads towards the glassless window. There was a handprint on the sill, faint but still visible in the dust. We shared a glance... a moment of clarity and nodded softly.

"Right," I continued, raising my voice above a whisper. "You're right. We'll check the floor again,"

Priss pointed at her chest, then at the stairs. She pointed at me, then out the window. Not a problem... it was only about three metres down.

I agreed with a nod.

"We'll do that," she said, before running out the door, making noise enough for two.

As silently as possible, I edged towards the window. There was a tantalising rustle in the grass below, followed the sound of someone shuffling through a window, and landing harder on her feet than she intended.

I smirked, waiting until I heard Priss at the stairs.

My heart was thumping, my mind running through scenarios. Had Sylia planted something outside, at the base of the window? Was she lying in ambush, expecting me to make the drop?

Would my programmed athletics actually let me do it?

Cautiously, I peered out the window, down at the grass outside. Nothing that looked like much of a mine. Shouldering my weapon, I placed my hands on Sylia's handprints and pushed myself through. Flipping in the air, I dropped for a moment, just enough time to bend my knees. When I hit the ground, I rolled with the impact, pushing myself to my feet as quickly as I could manage.

I half expected a pellet to the back as I pushed myself back up against the concrete wall. Okay, I pulled that off as well as could be expected.

Stop. Wait a second. What could I hear?

Priss running, the soles of her boots thumping on the concrete as she pounded down the stairs, drowning everything out. Nené was still complaining to herself about always being used as the decoy.

No Sylia.

I slipped over the sill of the window, ready to dash for cover. Pressing myself back against a wall, I checked the corridor ahead. Nothing.

I knew full well that Sylia'd probably heard me land and was already working out a plan in her head to deal with it. I figured she was probably somewhere between myself, and the staircase.

I figured she'd been originally expecting to come up the staircase behind us, and had been sneaking. Then, heard Priss running down the stairs. She might've thought to ambush her. Next, I landed behind her. She realised that we'd figured her out, that we were trying to trap her and then she….

What would Sylia do?

It was a straight run between staircase and windowsill. There weren't any junctions. Either she had to think of a very cunning plan, or she was trapped.

A racing thrill shot through my body as I sprinted forwards, hoping to trap her before she could recover. I leapt over a sheet of cardboard that seemed oddly askew. I could smell her perfume, mixed with a trace of her unique pheromone signature.

I stopped at the corner… rather than dive right out into her line of fire. I could hear Priss at the bottom of the stairs, I could hear Sylia panting, trapped, only a few metres away. Crouching down once more, I leant out into the corridor.

She saw me immediately, raising her gun.

I smirked, aiming mine right at her.

Slowly, smiling calmly as if she lost nothing more important than a hand of Bridge, she placed hers on the ground and took a deep breath

"Well, I guess you both win. I'll pay,"

Priss whooped from behind her.

"Two nice big Juicy Steaks."

Oh yes. Nice and Rare. Victory was sweet, tender and juicy. And coated in sautéed onions, seasoned pan-fried mushroom, with a boat of beautiful pepper sauce on the side. Mix that with chips made of real potato, and I was already salivating.

I left Survival Shot with a full belly, watching Priss ride off. Linna gave Nené a lift home, while Sylia drove past, hurrying off to her own business. I was walking back to Hot Legs to pick up my bike, where I'd parked it.

A rider caught my attention… buzzing past on a blue Suzuki RGV, a common cheap 2-stroke sportbike. She…definitely she… wore blue and white Dakini leathers, a common cheap brand. She had a white helmet… also a cheap model.

And she looked right at me as she rode past.

I could _feel_ her staring. Looking right through me as if I was a ghost, or maybe someone she thought she recognised.

Why would she be staring at me like that?

Could that be?

I killed the idea as soon as it formed in my mind. Common clothes, on a common bike. She could've been anybody.

I turned away, and she rode on, following after Priss. The idea clawed it's way up from the grave, Maybe….just maybe.

Bah! This was real life. Coincidences like that just couldn't happen. I tugged on my jacket collar, pulling it tight against the cold, and moved on

When I got home, I was greeted by the one piece of news I didn't want to hear.

"Sickening Vampire attack kills two."

**I…I**

The target was a slab of chobham armour cut off an old Abrams tank. On top of that, another plate of explosive-reactive armour. On top of that, four layers of abotex armour, similar to that on a 12-B. Behind the whole lot, about three meters of dirt to hopefully stop the shot before it punched through the outer wall.

Just for show, one of Priss' railguns mounted on a bench, was fired first. It shot with a distinct transonic snap echoing through the concrete test chamber, converted from an abandoned subway tunnel near _The Panty Drawer_.

The dart stuck end on in the abotex, driving through three layers before coming to a halt.

"A good test," noted Sylia from the safety of an armoured booth, "Good enough to damage a 55-C. Proceed at your own leisure, Meg."

I was wearing the stubsuit… at least, that's what I'd taken to calling the test suit. It had just enough armour retrofitted to save me if the gun exploded, which my own simulations assured me wasn't going to happen. Better safe than sorry.

"I understand," I responded, hefting the massive cannon up to my shoulder. Even with the stubsuit's power-boosted actuators, it felt heavy. "Commencing Final System checks,"

A number of indicators lit up green across my visor.

"All green," I reported, "Setting for half-power shot, shunting power from stubsuit secondary batteries,"

Capacitors started to whine as they charged up for the first shot. An unfortunate consequence of the design… it took about a minute to cycle up for the first shot, during which time the stubsuit was essentially frozen stiff. All the power from the batteries was going just to charge for the first shot.

Inside the black shell of the cannon, servomotors whirred as they set the induction coil taps to their correct position. By controlling the rate of change of current in the gun's rails, I could control the power of the shot, and the recoil felt by the wearer.

My mouth went dry as I watched the output from the voltmeter hit three figures. It kept climbing. I was very aware that I was wearing a potential bomb, should anything go of. Memories of Mason's fiery demise flickered through my mind, chilling me to the bone.

I double-checked the suit ejection systems.

"Cycle ready. Loading projectile," I worked the bolt manually, pulling it back to open the firing chamber. I pulled a single dart from a pouch on my hip, and slipped it into place before pushing the bolt forward again, cocking the weapon. "Weapon hot,"

"Fire when ready,"

I trained the cannon dead centre on the armour plate, took on long deep breath. Held it. And clicked the trigger.

Inside the cannon's trigger assembly, the spring released, pushing the projectile forward into the barrel. Two fins on each side of the projectile engage with the rails on both sides of the barrel, making the final connection on the electric circuit.

Two kilovolts pushed several hundred amps through a pair of induction coils, current building slowly over the space of a few microseconds. The induced magnetic fields acted against the changing current, keeping it from ramping up too quickly, sapping energy from the shot in the process. In the barrel, the rails energised, as current entered through one, passed through the projectile, and dumped through the other. The surface of the carbon rails instantly and explosively turned to plasma, burning hotter than the centre of the sun.

A magnetic field formed around each rail, interacting with that forming in the projectile. Coupled with the burning plasma, these pushed the dart down the barrel. Over the space of a split second, the keiyurium projectile reached a peak velocity of about two kilometres per-second, leaving the barrel riding a column of plasma burning a golden orange and trailing brilliant white sparks.

Simultaneously, the circuit made by the projectile was broken. The energy stored within the inductors looked for some place to go, and the only place available for it were the now near-empty capacitors. Left to just dump back into the cap-banks, against their polarity, all that raw energy would just cause them to explode.

A small, shielded circuit detected the changes in electric current, and immediately cycled a pair of solid-state switches, reversing the connections between capacitor banks and inductors, allowing the EMF to recharge for the next shot, rather than just dump and explode. The effect was electronically analogous to recoil of an auto-pistol being used to load the next shot, and re-cock the pistol.

The charge was trapped in the capacitors as the switches went to open-circuit.

By this stage, the keiyurium dart had travelled the fifty meters or so down the tunnel, drilled through all four layers of abotex, through the explosive armour before it even had a chance to explode, and erupted into a glowing white fireball of burning keiyurium and molten steel.

I didn't so much hear the bang, as feel the magnetic fields resonate through my body, tugging on the metalwork around my joints, and sending jolting currents surging through a few poorly shielded cables. Warnings announced themselves inside my mind, subsystems flickering in and out for a few brief seconds.

When the smoke, and my vision, finally cleared, the target was still there…. Albeit with a rather large smoking crater blown in it's surface, and a hole large enough to put my fist through drilled straight into the dirt behind.

Cap-bank charge was at 85%. The gun was still smoking, on the verge of being overheated. All systems green. If I'd wanted to, I could recharge and cycle the action, ready to fire another followup shot within about 10 or 15 seconds.

As it was, I just stood there and gawped for long seconds, while the ringing in my ears and throughout my body steadily went away. I looked down at the barrel, smoking. I looked up at the crater, also smoking. Then at the barrel, then back at the crater. For a moment, it seemed almost impossible that something I'd designed and built could do something like that.

I hefted the cannon up and opened the bolt, letting cold air in. The insulation on the power cables was steaming ever so slightly.

"Groovy," I muttered before I started giggling maniacally inside my helmet, while fans did their best to extract the smoke and debris still smouldering in the air. "I think…" I said, hearing my voice quivering, "That might be a successful test,"

"Indeed," Sylia responded, her voice incongruously composed compared to the hell I'd unleashed, "However, we still need to perform a teardown analysis on the weapon components."

I nodded, still a little overwhelmed. And strangely, thinking of SkyKnight, even though it'd been a long time since I'd read that fanfic. Well, if I couldn't beat him on heroism and chivalry, I could sure win on firepower…. From a few kilometres away.

"Roger. Test complete. Making weapon safe,"

I carefully disconnected the power leads, and set the capacitors to slowly discharge themselves back into the stubsuit batteries. It'd be an hour or more before they were safe. I didn't wait an hour before getting out of the suit.

The cannon smelled of ozone and raw _heat_, and was still warm to the touch even after I'd taken time to get into something more comfortable than innerwear.

"Might be a good idea to let it cool for a while," I suggested to Sylia, while poking at it. My reward for that was a singed finger to suck on.

"An hour at least,"

"Shit, I'll have to go to work before then,"

I was still buzzing. It'd taken me the best part of half a year to build that thing. And now it worked. I was terrified that when we finally did get it apart, I'd find that the rails had buckled with the heat, or just destroyed themselves through arcing. They were only good for ten shots or so anyway.

"Have you been watching the news?" questioned Sylia, sounding conversational. I knew she was being anything but. Taking a soft breath, I went very quiet for a moment.

"I saw," I stated.

"And,"

I had to be careful. How could I venture this with Sylia?

"….I'd rather… they didn't get hurt," I broke eye contact.

"That might not be possible," she said calmly. "Especially if you want to keep your secret,"

Sylia wanted that to come out. It stood to reason that she wanted Priss to know what Sylvie is. I swallowed a lump, feeling my lip start to quiver. I could've done without the mental image of all four of them towering over me, repeating "It's just a machine, nothing more,"

"Right now, I'm a person," I said, carefully choosing my words, "A boomer is not a person. A boomer is the machine pouring coffee, or cleaning toilets." History had shown it… time and time again, it's so easy for humans to dismiss someone as 'not a person', just because they're different somehow. Even among friends. I knew human nature, hadn't I been one once?

"I know what you are, and I don't think you're 'just a machine'. I don't think the others would see you any differently, you've been with us for long enough." She smiled lightly, "And it is always best to tell a secret, than to have it come out."

I sighed, staring at the gun. "And harder,"

I just couldn't stop thinking of Nené. She looked at me and saw a person. She could rattle off a hundred reasons why I wasn't human, but still couldn't make the final leap and understand that I was a boomer…. Because boomers aren't people. Boomers don't act like people.

"I think, Sylvie and Anri should have as much a chance to be a person, as I've had,"

It was what kept me sane. Had Sylia chosen to keep me as a piece of property, I don't know what I would've done. Gone stir crazy maybe.

"Perhaps they should, but in this city people don't usually get the chance they deserve,"

"I know," I said in a bitter tone. "What are you going to do?"

"Whatever needs to be done to get the DD under control without destroying the city, and to ultimately destroy Largo. Those are our priorities." She stopped for a second, "Which isn't made easier by Largo knowing everything Mason did. He hasn't been spotted at the GPCC."

"So… he's doing something different?"

"Perhaps. I don't know yet."

Well… that's all I need. A Largo that's smart. At least he didn't ever have _these _episodes.

Of course, I wasn't stupid. It was well obvious to me what Sylia was trying to do. She was trying to encourage me to give up my secret. And it made perfect, logical sense to do so. I could see how things would work, if I chose to be an optimist. I tell the others what I am, and why we have to save Sylvie and Anri… they agree, and we get both Anri and Sylvie safe and sound, along with the DD… maybe through simply offering them forged identification papers in exchange. They get to go on living, everybody's as happy as larry. Well, at least their chances would be better.

On the other hand, if I stick to my guns, things might end up playing out as they did. Would I let them die, just to keep my secret safe?

Part of me would. Even if the other Sabers were cool with it, even if it didn't change a thing between us… all it would take would be a single slip of the tongue near the wrong person, and that'd be it. Especially with these vampire murders in the news…. My life could be destroyed for the sake of a day's headlines.

"At least the gun works," I changed subjects, in a very brutal manner.

"Even though we still have to calibrate the targeting systems, and try a full power shot. It was impressive."

High praise. That gave me a strange giddy rush. If a 50% shot could make such a big crater out tank armour, what would happen when the inductors where bypassed completely?

Placing my hand on the weapon, I looked at Sylia, then down at my own shadow. I built that gun. I came up with the concept. It was the fruit of my creativity, intelligence and ability to use a search engine when I got stuck. It wasn't something a mere 'machine' could build. It was still warm to the touch. It differentiated me from Priss and the others.

"Have you decided what _you're_ going to do, Meg?"

I took a deep breath, before exhaling a long sigh.

"I honestly don't know," I didn't think she could possibly understand how afraid I was. I didn't want to be the new appliance. I didn't want to die shot three times in the back while I ran away. I didn't want Anri and Sylvie to die. Checking the time on my onboard clock, I gave thanks to the Time Lords that it gave me an excuse to leave. "I better get to my job,"

"I see," said Sylia. "Just be careful. Wait too long, and circumstances may make the decision for you. And not in a way you'd like."

I felt a shot of anger .Was that a threat? One look at her face told me otherwise. It was a friendly warning, nothing more. The way I understood it, I had the choice between saving Sylvie and Anri, or revealing my secret. And since Sylia would never reveal the secret without my permission, and probably couldn't rescue them without revealing the secret, that left only one outcome…

"I know…"

She smiled, "Well, I'll tear this down, and fax the results to you tonight,"

We said goodbye and I left, talking the short walk over to the Hot Legs.

Why did it have to be one or the other? I started to wonder. Binary dilemma's were the stuff of bad fiction. There had to be a third answer, something that'd let me save the pair of them _and_ keep my true nature hidden. Couldn't I have my cake at eat it too?

And if there wasn't, or I couldn't find it?

Would I really let two people die to protect myself? Well, it wouldn't be the first time I've allowed someone to die.

That night, the _Legs_ was full.

I never felt more alone.

**I…I**

The next night, we had a mission. A bunch of construction models had gone haywire in District 9. No big deal. I smashed one of their skulls in with a knucklebomber, spattering my visor with the same pseudo-organic neural gunk I had between my ears.

Crunch. Bang. Dead.

Did it panic? Was it _afraid_. Did it ever understand that it had a life to lose, even on a subconscious level? It dropped over smoking, forever holding it's peace.

I was a boomer, afraid of being killed because I was a boomer…. And there I was with a smoking cyberdroid wreck at my feet. I want to save Sylvie and Anri, but I make a living killing mad boomers.

Doesn't that seem screwy?

If these mad machines were _alive_ in some way, then what was the difference between us? What was the difference between an 88-K tearing through an office block and Sylvie?

A man and a woman crawled out from underneath the remains of an office cubicle… bloodied but alive. One of their colleagues hadn't been so lucky. He was dead lying in a pool of his own blood most of his side stoved in.

There might be more in the wreckage. There would've been more on top of that, if we hadn't shown up when we did…probably a lot more. So. In the long run, I saved many lives by taking one.

Right. That's good!

I wasn't destroying them because they were boomers…. I was destroying them because they were putting people in danger. Because if I didn't, more people would die. Whether boomers were sentient, or not, didn't enter into that equation.

The most important thing was stopping them before more people died. As quickly as possible.

Why did it feel strangely hollow?

**I…I**

Mid afternoon, and there were five customers in the bar, and two other employees other than myself. All of us clustered around the radio, listening.

"_Crowds have gathered at the wall, trying to force their way over," _it announced_, "The mood is jubilant. There's a__n energy here, a building momentum against the barrier that has separated Europe for nearly eighty years,"_

History was happening. It was about bloody time. They were about forty years late.

"_The human guards have shouldered their weapons. They're still __keeping the crowds back from the checkpoints, but you get the feeling their doing it now more to prevent people from being crushed in the rush, than out of any obligation to State security."_A cheer rose up, "_And they're letting some of the first people. Th__e fireworks have started!"_

I could hear the excitement in the announcer's voice… the hope, mixed with a building snap, crackle and pop I knew wasn't from fireworks. The screams from the crowd quickly shifted from joy to mortal terror.

"_They're Firing!"_ the announcer panted, sounding like she was running_ "Soviet Guard boomers are _firing _into the crowd. There're dead bodies in the street… I count at least three, four, five… more than that. People are tripping over each other to make it to the West… pushing__ those who are trying to get back out of the line of fire to the ground._"

The gunfire wasn't stopping.

"_I don't know how many are dead or dy…"_

A stunned, pained shriek, followed by a whipcrack snap, followed moments later by a heavy thud and a gurgling death rattle. The program cut back to the Megatokyo studio, and a disbelieving host who was still trying to contact the dead announcer.

It was a disappointing anti-climax. Nothing more. Those who'd gathered moved away back to their table. Someone asked me for a beer, and I turned the radio to a different station playing music. The United States would protest and follow the McCarthy doctrine, the Soviets would call it an internal matter and threaten retaliation against the US response. Then another crisis would pop up. But nothing would break the deadlock. I changed to another station

"…_amed as one Amy Langston. ADPolice are not ruling out a connection between this latest death and the other vampire incidents,"_

I winced. And those hadn't stopped either. They were still out there, with the media whipping up hysteria. I could hear the distinct change in tone of the conversation in the room. People were already blaming some weird boomer gone insane.

They were wrong. Sylvie wasn't insane.

I put it out of my mind. How long was it before some ADP hothead made the link to a 33-S boomer? How long after that would it take him to go running around to find the nearest one and put a bullet in my head, just to call the job done?

As if hearing my question, an ashen-faced Leon breezed in through the main door, chased by a deathly cold draft. Daley wasn't with him… and the investigation into the murders was clearly getting to him.

He sat down at the bar and called me over, "Deckard,"

His voice was harder than usual. It chilled me a little… especially to see his badge out. I swallowed my fears… this was probably just another dickhead calling in a complaint about being manhandled out the door after being caught with an up-skirt camera.

"Ken's in his office," I told him.

"I don't want to talk to Ken," he said, eyes staring into mine through his shades. A knot of unease began to twist deep inside my stomach. Why me? A little flag reminded me of my thoughts right before he'd come through that door and I nearly threw up. "Is there anywhere private we could talk?"

He made a point to show his badge. Officer number B26354. He knew…. Oh God in Heaven he _knew._

"Alright," I forced out, moistening my lips, "The cellar down below should be quiet enough,"

I tried to keep calm, even as I called Isildore to take over for a few minutes, but it must've been obvious to the world that I was bricking it. I glanced back at the main door. Leon was between myself and it. And the emergency exits were far enough away that I'd get a bullet in the back if I even thought about running.

Alright… be rational. Don't panic.

Alone in the room. I can get his shades off. I can get his pants off. I can put him to sleep, tie him up, get out the main door and be long gone again he wakes up. Right… that's easy. And no dead-cop manhunt.

I was shaking as he followed me down the stairs, and passed the dressing rooms. I wanted to run so badly. My body screamed at me to run… to just make one last go of it. I couldn't… I had to keep my head. Doing something stupid will get me killed for certain. I don't want to die shot three times in the back through a plate glass window and go stiff as a mannequin.

"Heh, Priss' room… maybe we could chat in there? I've always wanted to get inside her room"

I shot him a sour glare, showing I really wasn't in the mood for any sort of humour. He was just trying to break the tension, but I really didn't appreciate it.

My hands were shaking so bad I fumbled with the cellar keys for a few seconds, before finally getting them into the lock, and getting the door open. I flicked on the lights, and stepped in.

Leon slammed the door shut behind him. It reminded me of a jail cell somehow…. Or an execution chamber. Alright. I was only going to get one shot at this. Centre myself. As calm as possible. I tweaked my pheromones up to full throttle, a sledgehammer to a human's senses in such a small space. And since I was already dressed in my work clothes, I had that to my advantage.

"Well," I purred sensuously, "If you want to _talk_ to me maybe you should take off those shades of yours,"

"I'd rather not," he said with a wry grin.

He stood between me and the door. I saw him reach for his holster. No…. not…. My body tensed up, my heart racing, my eyes darting around like a cornered animal's. There's got to be some way out.

"Please don't…" I whimpered.

I meant it. Oh God how I meant it. Just to make him leave that thing alone. He reached inside a pouch beside it, and clicked something. What was he…? He looked almost ashamed, as he realised what he'd been doing had looked like.

"Ah… sorry," he smiled sheepishly, "Was just turning off my radio. I didn't come here to harm you, Meg" he reassured me.

Warily, I believed him.

"Then why?" I muttered, shaking as my body started to cool.

"I take it, you follow the news, that you know about the murders," he said, speaking calmly and carefully. His tone was soft, and deliberately non-threatening.

I nodded…. Trying my damnedest not to cry with relief. My words just died in my throat.

"And you know what's causing the killings,"

Again, I just nodded. My body was still fighting to run away. I still felt sick to my stomach.

"Now I need your help. Any information you can give me about the killer, or why, or how."

I shrunk back. "I don't know anything about them," I said, my voice still sounding a little strangled.

"Them?"

I winced.

"Well…. Uh… y'know. There must be at least two. If…" I stopped to come up with something that sounded logical, "If they need so much blood, it must be two. If they need so much blood, one has to be too weak to get out of bed. While the other is…." I searched for the right word.

"Committing murder," Leon finished, coldly.

Somehow, I felt like a traitor and I didn't know why. "They're not mad boomers. They're scared and panicking. They're alone in a city that wants them dead, and they're afraid of dying."

And so was I. Leon glared right through me.

"And so where the people they killed. Necessity is no defence against murder, not even for humans." A pause "Look I have to stop innocent people from dying here. _Anything_ you can tell me about them might be helpful,"

What was I supposed to do?

I could press it; I could plead for them… I could take Leon down maybe. But… he had that gun. He could shoot me right fucking now, and nobody would bat an eyelid. God knows how long he'd known. Why hadn't he said anything before now?

What happens when Sylia finds out?

What could I tell him? If I tell him something he might leave me alone. Until he figures out that it's a lie. I known Sylvie comes here sometime soon… but _when?_

Oh my God… I'm actually thinking of betraying them.

I looked him right in the eye.

"I don't… know… anything."

I felt a few stray tears run down my cheek, expecting any moment to be 'retired'. Leon was cool, calm… but a little bit frustrated and trying hard not to get aroused. Maybe I could try taking him out by surprise and making a run for it to my bike.

Get shot three times through a window, and go rigid as a mannequin when it's done.

He sighed lightly, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, it was worth a shot. You were my last chance at getting a lead on them," He ran his hand through his hair. "Thanks anyway," Standing up to leave, he turned his radio back on… resulting in another near heart attack for me. "I'll see you around,"

…that's it?

"Why?" I managed to force out.

"Huh"

I felt like the turkey asking about Christmas.

"Why are you just leaving?"

He looked puzzled at me for a moment, before copping on. He smiled gently.

"The law is the law. And the law says that I can't destroy a boomer, unless it posses a direct threat to life or property. You've never threatened anyone I wouldn't've already decked in your position. And finally, "… he paused for a second, "I like you Meg. You're a good and interesting person, who just wants to make a life for themselves. I amn't going to take that away just because it'd look good on a police report. Not _all_ cops are assholes like that." He chuckled.

That had the bitter ring of truth to it. There were plenty who were.

I looked at him, completely unsure whether to be royally pissed off at a world where I was only alive because of the whim of one fucking cop, or grateful that he called me a person. I didn't know whether to be terrified that he might change his mind after a bad day at work.

And who else fucking knows?

Who the fuck else could figure it out?

Somebody who wouldn't be so goofy and nice about it, that was for sure.

"How did you… find out?"

"Nené," he answered quickly, "She was trying to figure out why someone would build a boomeroid like you… or who would do it. She told me all your… features… " he sighed, "I _almost_ told her the truth, but then she went and told me all the reasons you couldn't possibly be 'just a boomer', so you 'had to be something else'." The cop shrugged, "She was right."

He left me sitting on the top of a beer cooler, shaking, sick to my stomach. I managed not to break down and start bawling on the floor, no matter how much I wanted to. I just took a few minutes to cool off, try to squash it all down somewhere where I could deal with it later. I had to get back to work and get paid.

I barely had the energy to bring myself up the stairs. I just felt drained in a way I couldn't quite describe. Ken was up there, waiting for me.

"Bad news?" he questioned.

I could smell the sympathy. He cared about me alright.

"Yeah." I answered quickly.

"Want to talk about it?"

"No, I'm good," I answered, my voice straining a little. "Thanks anyway,"

I couldn't shake the image of that gunned-down mannequin from my mind. There but for the grace of some bloody cop go I. Or Nené….

Needless to say, I was a little less than my usual sparky self for the rest of the night.

As was usual, it got worse. Just as the band was warming up, my watch started to ping. Sylia'd called a meeting at 10pm. Two pence and my right eye said it was about the DD.

Well fuck it… what else could go right today?

**I…I**

I braced myself against the winter cold, pulling my jacket tight while cursing the fact that I decided to pay the electricity bill, rather than buy a warmer coat. Thousands of people thronged through the streets.

And I was alone.

An automated airship drifted overhead, broadcasting advertisements offering a new-life in the underground cities, before switching over to an ADP recruitment drive, followed by an advertisement for Genom's latest household models.

Just machines.

I was still coming down from my 'meeting' with Leon. A few glimmers of fear sparked deep inside me each time I passed a cop in the street. Naturally, each one of them took a second glance at the hot redhead hurrying passed, obviously trying not to look like she was afraid of them.

There's nothing better for attracting a cop's attention than being spooked around them. I got stopped fucking twice… once to check my ID fair enough, and another who insisted on a pat-down that an airport security guard would be ashamed of trying.

The worst part… the fucking worst part was that I was too damned terrified to call him on it…. because I knew full well that he'd just use it as an excuse to abuse his authority even more. I wanted to avoid being dragged down to a police station as much as possible.

Just bite my tongue and wait until the git realises he wasn't going to provoke me.

He moved on to someone who might fall for it. Oh please don't take me to the station mister policeman, I'll do anything. Anything?...

I was dragging stormclouds behind as I went through the front door of Silky Doll. A few customers had the good sense to step out of my way, while Mackie was frightened enough to maintain eye contact the whole time.

In the lift on the way up, I was ready to singlehandedly lead the boomer revolution while the speaker played that stupid happy music all lifts seemed to play.

When the doors opened I was just hoping the day would get itself done with so I could go home and get some rest. Even the welcoming smell of good food didn't lift my spirits. Beneath it was the taint of cigarette smoke… Sylia had been smoking. Something was bugging her.

"Meg, you look like hell." Linna called it in one. "Bad day?"

"Yup," I nodded with a bitter grimace. "Just some difficulty at work,"

"Oh," Sylia took her usual interest, "Well, I find that after a stressful day nothing helps me unwind like a nice soak in the pool,"

"I don't have a pool," I deadpanned. I didn't even have a bath. Just a shower that had two settings: Cold, and Freezing.

"You're always welcome to mine," she smiled.

I didn't have my swimwear with me. I decided that didn't matter.

"I might just take you up on that," I sighed, finding a comfortable seat right next to the food.

"Careful Meg, that's Nené's seat," Linna warned with a giggle.

"Would you at least wait until she's here," I smirked at her. "How's Jacob?"

"Pissed that I had to leave him so quick," she frowned. I sensed a deeper sort of disappointment in there with a current of frustration, and maybe a reason why she went through so many boyfriends. "Is this really such a rush job?"

"I'm sorry about that," Sylia said with her usual polite coolness, before taking a sip from her coffee. "But the client wants this taken care of as quickly as possible,"

"Rule ten violation. Punishment is death by frustration," she pouted.

"It's hard to maintain a stable relationship in this line of work," remarked Sylia.

"Problem I don't have," I remarked, forcing myself to feel a little smug. Glad not to have. Always glad not to have. I munched on a scone, needing a bit of starch and sugar to replenish my energy.

"Don't you get lonely?" Linna questioned me.

"Not like _that_,"

"I don't mean like that," she said, pointedly. "Just to have someone there for you, who thinks you're the most important person in the world." She grinned, "The best part of sleeping with someone isn't the sex, it's waking up the next morning and feeling him curled up beside you, his soft breath warming the back of your neck, and knowing he's only there for you."

"I know," I said, flatly. It had been nice. "Unfortunately, any relationship I have with a human just going go bad quick,"

Sylia shot me a look for a moment. It was true, eventually it'd stop being about me and more about my abilities.

"The curse of the beautiful," she teased.

I gave her a sour glare, not really in the mood for a full on teasing match today. I just didn't feel up to it, not after Leon. They were humans, I wasn't. I just looked like one well enough to play the role… and nowhere near good enough to go unnoticed anymore.

Leon knew. Daley would probably know whenever he reappeared. How many other cops would find out? What happens to me when Sylia finds out?

I don't want to be property. I don't want to be a slave. I don't want to be 'just a machine' while my 'friends' are out having fun. I don't want to loose my freedom. I don't want to loose my whole damn life and everything that's important to me because I my body happens to have been built in a factory.

You just know they'll do it, that's what humans do. I knew it well because I used to be one, I knew my own thoughts and prejudices. I knew their history. Leon's probably just keeping my secret for his own advantages.

And Linna? She'd betray me too, wouldn't she?

She wasn't the type to betray a person, but would she still see me as a person?

Since when did my life start becoming a bad Eva fic?

"It's not like Nené to be this late," Sylia commented, showing a faint annoyance as she lit up a cigarette. I still winced a little every time I saw her smoke... I hated the bloody things. After seeing my grandfather rot away from the inside with cancer... I reminded myself that he wasn't technically my grandfather anymore.

I still hated the poxy things, they still screwed up my lungs to.

"Priss is dropping her off," Linna said. "Or so she told me... her scooter broke down,"

"Oh, well that explains it," Sylia chuckled. "So then, why is Priss so late?"

"She's probably with her new friend. They've been spending a lot of time together."

I cringed, shrinking down into my jacket.

"Hmmm..." Sylia took a low draw on her cigarette. "Sounds like someone I'd want to meet,"

"Uh-huh," Linna nodded. "You should see her. She's so _stylish... _with a body like Meg's she's causing a sensation,"

Sylia looked right at me, and all I could do was look at my feet. I'd be seeing Sylvie tomorrow, I was almost certain of it. Tomorrow was the next Replicants concert at the Hot Legs.

I made my decision.

"It looks like somebody's feeling jealous that they aren't the hottest thing in town anymore," the dancer needled.

I shot her such a vicious glare, she froze dead on the spot. I could feel my eyes almost glowing.

"Well some people can give it, but can't take it," she pouted.

"Not today anyway," I added, sourly.

I ran my fingers through my hair, and became more certain of my decision with every passing second.

Priss appeared a few minutes later, with a strange scent that drew my attention right to her... a pheromone trace that set off every single alarm bell in my mind.

"Hi guys," she smiled at us. "Sorry I'm late, but I got hung up a bit and lost track of time."

Priss was almost glowing. Spending time with Sylvie was really making her happy... and that's all they were doing together. I could tell that too.

It just convinced me all the more that I was taking the right course of action. I wasn't going to tell Priss that her new friend was 'just a machine'.

Nené followed in behind her, dazed and pale. "So many red lights..." she mumbled. "So many go past. So fast."

"Well, now that we're here at last," Sylia smiled diplomatically, "We can begin,"

It was what I expected it to be. The DD. Our mission was to get it back in one piece. Apparently it had been stolen from Generos by Kaufman's 'girlfriend'. I knew better.

"Hey, I wonder if she's as pretty as Priss new friend," Nené commented.

It was hard not to laugh, but there was no way she could've known. Sylia carried on, looking just a little bit amused as she described the DD as I remembered it from the OVA, including the bloody stupid booby trap that had been fitted to it.

"The intention appears to have been to discourage theft by a potential buyer," she concluded.

"Obviously didn't work then," Priss said with a wry grin.

Good thing too, considering that Genaros is a kilometre's long O'Neil cylinder, and is the largest man made structure in history.

"Yes, well. I've been pushing for further information, especially how to deactivate the device."

"Shoot it or blow it up," I suggested.

"But if it goes off?" Nené gasped...

"Nuclear weapons don't work that way," Sylia reassured her, "The warhead won't initiate, just explode and destroy itself. A good emergency option, but it will spread plutonium over a wide area."

Not a _lot_ of plutonium.

That was pretty much it. There really wasn't much for us to actually do... The DD came down with the Orca. The investigation of that was also being handled by Leon's department which meant for us, it was Nené's department. We knew it'd be down in the junkyard parts of the fault, but four women crawling through that pile of scrap would be asking for trouble. And using the hardsuits would drain the batteries.

"Unless anybody has heard anything else, then that is all." Concluded Sylia.

She was looking right at me as she said it. Come on Meg, now's your chance to come clean. Now's your chance to tell all. It was the perfect opportunity. The gang's all here Meg... say something. It's not hard really.

Just a long moment of silence, waiting for me to speak.

I opened my mouth…

And took a bite from a scone.

The mild look of disappointment on Sylia's face was obvious. I felt a flash of guilt, but crushed it hard. This was my choice, and I was certain it was the right one. I'd never been more certain about something in my entire life.

Sylia brought the meeting to an end, and we all chatted for a bit. They all chatted for a bit, while I felt like I was going through the motions. Something had changed… I couldn't put my finger on it, but something really had changed.

I looked at them and I saw humans. I saw a species. Aren't they supposed to be my friends? Shouldn't I be able to trust my friends? I could tell them time to the microsecond…

I looked the same as them, but I was so different. Completely different. Like comparing apples and oranges. Like comparing an apple with a replica apple made of artificial protein and injected with apple flavouring.

Sylia asked me to wait behind, after the others had left. I didn't sense that she was angry as such… maybe disappointed.

"So, you've made your decision?" she asked me. There wasn't any accusation in her voice.

"I'm keeping my secret," I told her.

"If you're sure."

"I am."

It was my choice to make. I didn't see a reason why I couldn't have my cake an eat it either. It was risky, but it was worth it. Wasn't that a Rule of Acquisition? The riskier the road, the greater the reward.

If I did this right, I got Sylvie. I got Anri. I got to keep my secret and everybody gets a nice happy ending.

The problem being, I hadn't the foggiest idea how to do it yet.

"Is something wrong?" she enquired.

Again... not accusing me of anything. She seemed genuinely concerned.

"Just work," I lied.

I lied right to her face. If she knew it, she didn't show it. She just nodded lightly.

"Well, the pool is upstairs if you need it. I'll have Mackie bring up some towels.

Looks like I got away with it.

I…I

I could get used to skinny dipping in a heated pool. I could get used to all the little luxuries in Sylia's apartment. Hot water seemed to dissolve the day's stresses. I climbed up from the hot pool, shivering a little as I hit the cold air.

A fresh set of towels had been left beside my clothes, near the patio heater. The one who'd brought them stood gawping….

And had been there watching me for the last five minutes. I wasn't really bothered by it….leering eyes were something I'd long since gotten used to. That was the big difference between me and humans.

"What're you staring at?" I teased him with a smirk.

I cursed the chlorine in the air for blocking out my pheromone senses, I could've really messed with his head.

"You," he answered unabashed. "You're so…. Perfect. It's fascinating."

"Oh."

I tried to read him, but my traditional human perception skills had gotten a little rusty.

He nodded. "You're totally symmetrical. You wouldn't notice it unless you knew what to look for. Like Linna's left nipple is a little higher than her right…."

I scowled darkly at him. For some reason, that offended me far more than if he'd been talking about my own.

He backpedalled, holding up his hands while looking nervously at the glass doors. "What I mean is…. When you know what you're looking for, you can see how artificial your body is."

My glare deepened. He was going somewhere I didn't want to think about it.

"I don't…. I don't mean that in a bad way." He stuttered nervously. His voice shrank "I'm kind of jealous actually,"

I blinked. My mind went to the obvious place "You want to be a woman?"

"No!" he yelped, blushing shamefully. "Well, sis said that's the only way she'd let me join the full team, and even offered to pay for the surgery, but you know what her sense of humour is like."

His mouth ran a mile a minute. I was having fun.

"I'll bet," I smiled.

"What I meant was. I like transhumanism, I like the idea of being able to go beyond humanity. You're the holy grail Meg… a stable human ghost dub, retaining their full memories, in a fully artificial body. You never get sick or grown old. With proper maintenance, you're potentially immortal. You can connect with hardware without going insane. Just like with the Highway Star."

He started to gather steam, cutting me off before I had the chance to point out that my immortality lasted only until the date some executive planned for the 30-series to go obsolete.

"You don't need to spend time learning; you could just download a Genom skillset and have the instant knowledge of how to do anything you wanted. I could take your mind out of your body and place it in a 12-b with a full armament, only needing to replace the drivers. You can surf the web with a thought, or back up your memories…everything that makes yourself you… to an external device so that if your body is destroyed, _you_ will go on. Minus some memories of course…"

He started to babble. It was clear he didn't understand why I hadn't bothered to do that. It seemed so obvious to him, it was the first thing he'd do.

"It would even be possible to copy the backups to a new body. Each Meg then feeding her experiences and sharing between the whole collective of Meg. Most boomer models can already do that."

I suppressed a chill… before allowing myself to blame it on the night's cold air. Something about that just felt so _wrong. _So, what have we learned Meg? I'm not entirely a boomer either. If I met my counterpart on Genaros… who was probably dead by now anyway…. We'd look the same. We'd sound the same. We'd smell and taste the same. We'd probably even use the same…. Techniques. No way in hell would she ever be me.

"I like being unique," I said. "There may be other Meg models. But none of them are me."

"Good fortune is always wasted on people who don't want it," the boy frowned.

"I like being a 33-S," I stated. "Don't get me wrong. We're better than you. But I like being myself too. " I smiled at him, "Besides, I'm a cyberpunk."

"Eh?"

"Transhumanism is about how technology and cool shiny stuff will eventually cure the human condition. Cyberpunk is about how technology won't"

He frowned. "Cyberpunk is _so_ 2020's." He suddenly went very quiet."Sis believes it. I know Dad did. "

Sylia never struck me as an optimist.

"New technology is created to solve the problems of the last new technology."

Whether it created more problems than it solved was another matter.

Mackie shrugged. "Someday we'll reach the mythical city on the hill."

Genom tower loomed over the city. A city in a hill. You could live your entire life without leaving the tower. Whole families lived in there. Children going to corporate schools while Mother and Father push paper in the office above, or head down to the lower levels to catch a bus to the factory. On the weekends, take in a Genom Entertainment movie, or go shopping at the top of the Tower. It was the ultimate company town where even the metered air coming through the vents came with a Genom brand.

Genom pays the employees who pay for Genom branded goods.

It was a security of life that discouraged employees from ever leaving their jobs. It made firing a devastating threat. Loose your job, lose everything. Lose your home, your kids education. What better way to keep the workforce under control? What better way to encourage them to turn a blind eye to the darker goings on?

In a very real way, the city in the hill held them hostage.

"If that's the city on the hill, I'd rather live in the gutter,"

There was a time when I would've jumped at the chance to have a life like that. My how things have changed.

That said... I lived far from the gutter. I had a decent place to live. A wage I could live off. I wasn't rich, but at the same time I wasn't scrounging. I wasn't running out of cash before the end of the week or doing without food. It wasn't luxury but it was enough.

Even Priss' trailer was her own choice to save more money for her hobbies.

Linna lived comfortably from Phoebes Fitness Bee, while Nené with her state job and government pension contributions was best off of all of us. Aside from Sylia.

Mackie looked up at me, then out at the tower, then very low... below my navel.

"This whole conversation was an excuse to stare at me naked while I dried myself, wasn't it?"

"No,"

He lied. I shrugged it off and wrapped a towel around my body. He wasn't getting any more of a look anyway, the others just wouldn't respect me if I kept letting that happen.

I smirked at him mischievously. "If you want to look at a body like this whenever you want, Sylia did say she'd pay for the cybernetics,"

His expression darkened. "Goodnight, Meg,"

I…I

I walked home through the city, drawing the usual admiring glances as I did so. Some religious nutbars had blocked off a bridge, painting slogans on the tarmac and holding up traffic.

The ADPolice had appeared in their original riot control role, cordoning the group off while whatever androgynously old monk proselytised to the crowd gathering at the cordon. Most were just random salarymen wondering what was holding up their journey home

"That which is called science perverts progress. That which is called progress perverts providence. Asahara's followers preach the religion of truth"

Lunatic.

"Only the followers of the Lamb of God of pure karma will be saved in the coming end times. A purifying war is coming... a war fuelled by Jewish United States. A conspiracy of Freemasons and Shinto priests struggling against the tsunami tide to maintain their influence"

His followers cheered. Most of the crowd jeered.

"It is written in the _Vajyranna Sacca _of the great Asaha..."

A tear gas grenade to the face shut him up. It hit him... or her... right on the nose, smashing his glasses and knocking that big-ass wig clean off. Some of the followers tried to riot... but with the gas burning their eyes and throat there wasn't much they could do.

I didn't stay to watch the dénouement, but it was on the news when I got back, followed by some crisis in Berlin after DDR troops shot up a protest march in the East, and the Soviet Union digging in over it's East German missiles. That was going Cuban quickly. A woman got a 250 grand settlement out of Genom for the death of her husband in an accident, and it was supposed to be sunny tomorrow.

I was glad when I heard that door slam shut behind me. Safe in my own apartment. Day from hell was over.

Tomorrow, I was going to meet Sylvie for the first time.

My first time meeting another 33-S.

What was she going to be like?

I...I

It was raining in the city. A hard rain that seemed to characterise every bad cyberpunk story since Blade Runner. I was warm and cosy inside the Hot Legs, and dressed hotter than hell to boot.

Well, I'm going to meet another sexaroid, I might aswell show off a little. Indulge in a little bit of 33-S pride. A body-hugging leotard, held tight my chest by a pair of straps to a collar around my neck.

A pair of high-heeled thigh-high boots fuelled the flames, while a heavy jacket added an air of class. Some straps across the hips kept everything tight and figure hugging, while pair of dark shades with a built in cellphone and HUD completed the cyberpunk milieu.

It was devastatingly sexy, but in a far more classy way than a street corner prostitute in a cheap miniskirt and fishnets.

For one thing, the only bare skin on my body was my arms, across my shoulders, and on my thighs. Close my jacket up tight and even that was gone. It's not what is shown, but how it's shown after all.

Stand tall, show confidence. It was all about poise and stance. I was demonstrating my confidence in my body, rather than trying to draw attention to myself.

It felt like I was demonstrating pride that I was a 33-S. This is me. This is what I am. What're you going to do about it?

"God damn," Ken said when I came out of the changing room. "You trying to give me a heart attack Meg? You know I have a problem"

I gave him a cheeky smile, "It's a _Replicants_ night, I have to look my best"

He may have been getting near ninety, but the fires of youth still smouldered inside. For a moment, it reminded of a time when I would've ached to even see a woman dressed like I was. I could've stared at myself on a computer screen for hours. As it was I was more concerned with adjusting the crotch without reaching down. Even though padding kept the details hidden, it could still be a bit tight.

"Meg!" Priss waved for me, rushing in from the side alley. She was projecting an aura of electric happiness that seemed to reflect off of everyone around her. "I'm expected a friend at the concert. Her name's Sylvie, Sylvie Rosen,"

I swallowed, "Right, I'll send her backstage."

Priss raised an eyebrow. "You know her?"

"No," I shook my head.

Her brow furrowed a little. "She's as tall as you, with hazel eyes, jet black hair and a strong tan, You won't miss her,"

"Sure," I forced a smile. My guts were twisting.

She disappeared into her dressing room, entering a cloud of cigarette smoke and the sound of what might've been a guitar being tuned. I got up the stairs as quickly as I could manage in high heels. I was giddy, riding the wave of excitement that always preceded a _Replicants _concert.

And I was going to meet Sylvie today.

Ken had already ensconced himself in the sound booth, running through checks on the gear. That's about all he was able to do lately. Old age was catching up with him. I had the bouncers close the front door when we reached maximum occupancy, and made sure the fire doors weren't locked or blocked.

I was practically running the place. Air conditioning to full power, set my computer playing on random through the files inside. A good variety helped Ken set the system levels. Keep a watchful eye. Crowded nights like this were dangerous nights. 3 posters on the mezzanine warned people to keep an eye on their drinks.

I had my first can of energy drink for the night and generally got stuck into the business of keeping up with a torrent of customers. The dancefloor was already heaving, a mass of neon people intersperse with flickering neon lights and luminescent hair.

If anything, I was a little overdressed, It didn't stop someone making a grab for bare synthetic flesh, but I was well used to handling that by now. It meant someone else queued up outside could get in.

Linna and Nené appeared like clockwork, finding themselves a pair of reserved seats at the bar. I looked after my friends the best I could. Outside, the rain was getting heavy, a few trickles starting to run down the stairs off the streets above.

The fault was probably going to flood again.

Thinking on that reminded me of my first Knight Saber mission. I'd changed as a person even since then. I glanced at my reflection in a bottle…. Back then, I'dve been too ashamed of myself to dress like this. Other things had changed too.

A weird hush fell across the crowd as the track on my computer changed over.

"_Funky Doll: Aerobic edition"_

Compared to the retrothrash recordings I'd had running, it was a total left turn. Linna giggled.

"We make out to this song at Phoebes,"

It took her a few moments to figure out why Nené was snickering behind her own hand, or why the drunk beside her had suddenly taken amorous interest.

"Work out!" she shrieked. "We work out to this!"

"Su~uure," Nené cooed. A cheer drowned out the rest of what she said, while the feed from my laptop cut off. Lights went down .

"Isn't Priss' friend supposed to be coming?" Linna yelled. "She's going to miss the show!"

"What?"

Good luck having a conversation, the whole show was about to kick off. Tension in the darkness reached a peak as the first shadows of movement ran across the stage. You'd have to know the show to know that the rumble of thunder overhead was actually mother nature offering her own input.

The lights blazed up with crash of drums and wail of guitars, mixed with the rapturous cheers of the crowd. It was always better to be on this side of the stage, I could ride along with the crowd, rather than being terrified of screwing up in the face of all that energy. There was no force on earth more dangerous than a crowd of people looking to vent.

All of Megatokyo was represented on that dancefloor. From the wageslave factory worker looking for an outlet for his frustrations and fears, to the odd Genom executive looking for a release from endless corporate politics. Of course, no Genom executive worth their salt would ever be _caught_ at a concert like this... it'd look bad in the office.

Priss was on stage wearing that big blond wig of hers, mixed with a racy outfit that let the whole world know she was the one in charge, she was the one to watch.

She was watching for someone in the crowd.

Sylvie hadn't arrived yet.

"Alright Hot Legs!" she bellowed. "How's the weather outside?"

The crowd whooped.

"Is there a hurricane tonight?" she screamed.

Oh they loved that. They went ecstatic. Sure I preferred _Victory_ more, but the mob had made their decision. That same into riff which first introduced me to Bubblegum Crisis over a year and a half before rippled through the sound system, nearly drowned out by the ground.

The atmosphere fizzed and crackled with lightning excitement. I could sing. Digitally precise and perfectly in tune. Priss could _perform_, rough, working a crowd to her advantage, pulling them into the abstract neon world flashing across the screen behind.

It became a cityscape, flashing passed at a 160 kph. It was vivid, enrapturing… you could loose yourself in it. A trance of music and light.

The best part of working in a bar/nightclub, was that I got to see the shows. A lot were crap. But the good ones…. The good ones made it worthwhile.

"So why haven't these guys gone pro yet?" someone demanded from me.

"Dunno!" I yelled back.

"Mike Arnold. Sony BMG." he placed a card on the counter . "Tell 'em to gimme a call. They could be the next ENOZ. " He winked at me. "And I'm sure we could find a better position for someone with your talent too,"

I glowered at him. "No way. Idol singer as tempting as being burned at the stake in public,"

And effectively having the exact same result. Burned out, fucked up…. and left as worthless ashpile while someone else gets rich.

"Well… number's on the card,"

The suit merged back into the crowd. _Hurricane_ ended, moving on into a Bruce Springsteen cover of all things. Still no sign of Sylvie.

Where was she?

I paced around. When I had the time to pace around. I think I had about half a second in between fetching drinks, making change and generally doing my damnedest to keep up with the rush. And keeping an eye out.

I swear to god that tanned bastard who owned the shop next door paid people to come in here and drug peoples drinks.

Also the reason why we'd been refused planning permission to mount CCTV camera's in that alleyway. He kept protesting it on 'privacy' grounds.

It wouldn't surprise me if someone jumped Sylvie in that alleyway. I know I've been followed.

I sent one of the boomers around to check. Nothing at all.

I felt like I was meeting a girlfriend for dinner, and she was late. It was that same sickening nervous feeling. What was she going to think of me?

A boomer, living free for nearly a year. A boomer with a person's memories.

Stupid as it may sound, I wanted her to like me in the worst possible way. Would she _be_ like me, or would she be even more different? I had the strangest feeling that I'd meet her and realise how human I still was…. Isn't that how this transhumanist treason thing normally works? Realise I've more in common with my human friends than the boomers I think I am, that I should tell them the truth and be done with it?

Sounds like a great Saturday morning cartoon plot.

This wasn't a poxy cartoon. And I wasn't betraying my friends…. I was just…. Going around them.

_The Replicants_ played on, thrashing through some of their older stuff. I could see the Genom executives club screaming '_Fuck Genom!'_ with the best of 'em.

The show started to wind down through _Wasurenaide_ and something new called _Anata Dake_ which was so new they apparently hadn't much chance to rehearse.

Still no Sylvie.

I could tell that Priss was going out of her way to make the show last longer than it usually did… the band were looking at her, wondering what the hell she was doing. The crowd were loving it. Extra show, for no extra cost.

Maybe Sylvie wasn't coming tonight.

Priss wrapped the show up with a very quick goodnight, but the crowd just kept baying for more. They clustered around the stage, even while the boomers started to clear the mess up. It took them a few minutes to cop on to the fact that there would be no more encores. I sent Isildore down to them with the usual array of drinks for the band… they'd be getting cleaned up and rested down in the dressing rooms. The crowds in the bar began to thin quickly while I finished another can of raw flavoured glucose.

It was a hell of a jolt. I set a demo sent in by the band _YKM _playing on my laptop. _Bara no Soldier_, it was called. There was something familiar about it, but I just couldn't place it. What was left of the crowd seemed to love it, so that meant _YKM_ got signed for a show.

Nobody was throwing chairs at me to turn it off.

Linna and Nené where chatting at the other end of the bar. They weren't the only two people in the universe, I had other customers , including someone who'd managed to get my attention by asking what'd happened to my Bender t-shirt with the 'Kill all Humans' slogan.

If Sylvie wasn't going to show up, maybe I could at least enjoy some of the perks of being a 33-S.

They were people who saw me and assumed that they had a right to me, that if I agreed to go home for coffee, I was only giving what was naturally due. There were the sort that practically expected me to 'come home for coffee'… the jocks who thought they were the hottest of hot shit. And they weren't just men.

Who wanted a sexaroid that only swung one way?

She wasn't the prettiest, she wasn't the smartest…. But she caught my attention enough that if she'd worked up the courage to actually ask me to spend the night with her, I would've. She didn't…. She was just too intimidated, and I didn't dare ask her.

The next arsehole to come along did ask. And when I told him exactly where to stick it, decided it'd be a good idea to grab me by the hair. He hit the floor down for the count, every just assumed he'd drunk too much and lost it.

Have I mentioned how much I love being a 33-S?

Priss appeared with a towel over her shoulders, Nené and Linna darting over to meet her.

"You were your usual epic self tonight!" Nené beamed with her usual giddiness.

"_Thank You,"_ Priss answered, seeming a little embarrassed to suddenly have everyone staring at her in her sportswear.

"My boyfriend is is a manager with EMI!" Linna bragged. "I can talk to him and see if he'll give you a contract,"

Priss sighed, "I'm sick of seeing you crying your eyes out broken hearted."

Something about that conversation was ringing a bell deep inside me. There was _something_ I was supposed to remembered, but I'd be damned if I couldn't. I spun it over for few cycles, before I caught a glimpse of that Sony businesscard. Of course.

"Priss!" I called out. "Someone from Sony BMG came by, asked me to give this to you,"

She took the card from me hesitantly, as if it might be diseased or something. Nené was appalles.

"Don't do it Priss!" she pleaded. "Sony are evil. They put rootkits on peoples computers and the disks wont even play if you've got hardware that doesn't have protected pathways and registered programs which you have to pay _extra_ money for..."

Priss just glared down at her. "I put it in my HGD player and it works."

A weird hush fell over the bar, interrupted by a single loud crack of a slap. I felt Sylvie's presence a moment before I saw her. A pheromone trigger that set of alarm bells ringing in my mind. I knew what she was without ever having met her. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that only another sexaroid would give off a signal like that.

Compared to the whispers of human pheromone traces I was used to, this was like someone screaming over a tannoy with wailing sirens and spinning cop-lights attached to her head.

I'm really that un-subtle?

As if the deep cleavage and body hugging leotard were subtle.

"That's not the point," Nené squealed.

"Give it up, Miss Cyberpunk," Linna giggled. "You're the only person here who cares about these things,"

"Oh, you're all picking on me,"

I'll admit, I would've been laughing, if I hadn't been watching Sylvie walk towards them with that same familiar gait I used myself. It drew every single free eye in the bar. Anyone who caught a glance of her in those figure-hugging blue leathers couldn't help but stare.

Her hazel eyes... the exact same shade as my own... had an earnestness to them. She brushed a few of her raven bangs off her forehead, while my mind continued it's analysis, picking out systems. I guessed, below the neck, we were the exact same save for the colour of our skin. Hers was a much deeper tan than mine.

"You look like your having fun," she smiled, blushing nervously.

All three of them turned to face for. Judging by Linna's expression, she immediately rediscovered her inner-lesbian. I didn't blame her. While she'd gotten used to me who kept it at a low level, Sylvie hit her with a brand new brick, actively pushing her pheromones hard.

Linna just giggled nervously and gawked. Nené, who'd spent even more time around me, just sighed and rolled her eyes. Priss was warm and welcoming to her new friend.

"This is Linna," she introduced her. "This here's Nené." she smirked. "She wants to grow up to be a sexy boomeroid like Meg here," Priss indicated towards me, while Nené scowled and Sylvie finally realised I was there.

She looked like she'd seen a ghost. She looked like her mind had just hung mid-thought on some strange deadlock of ideas. I guess she'd been so focused on Priss, she didn't notice me until I was pointed right out to her.

"Hi," I said.

Sylvie glanced around, shyly shrinking back.

"You two know each other?" Priss asked, with a reassuring smile.

"No, we've never met," I answered quickly, with a nervous quiver in my voice. The others eyed me suspiciously.

Priss glanced between us. I watched her eyes flicker across our bodies. A light went on behind her eyes, and I started to check for the exits. "I get it now. Don't worry Sylvie," she reassured her friend with a heavy hand on the shoulder, "We know Meg's secret, and it's okay with us,"

Sylvie just gawped..."...really?"

"Unh." Linna nodded, finally catching up. "It doesn't matter that you're a boomeroid. You're still human inside,"

I winced. Sylvie cringed nervously, looking for all the world like a cornered cat.

"I want to be a boomeroid," Nené declared, "There'd be no limit to what I could do with my brains and your boobs."

Linna sighed. "And you'd probably still end up being a nerd sitting in front of a computer screen in the oversized t-shirt you slept in,"

"Would not,"

Sylvie giggled. I relaxed. Priss remembered what she'd originally meant to say. "You're late. You missed the show,"

Sylvie shrank back, looking almost like a scolded puppy, "Sorry," she said. "But there was something I had to take care of."

"Don't worry about it," Priss waved it off. "The important thing is we're all here now,"

Sylvie looked bewildered for a moment, almost like she couldn't understand why Priss wasn't angry with her. She looked right at me for an explanation, and then to the others.

"...Sure," she said, offering her hand.

Priss gave her a funny look, before realising what she meant. Just a handshake, nothing more. Priss carefully took her hand, firming her grip up after a moment. Nené followed, giggling nervously as she put her hand with Linna adding hers clearly just so she wouldn't be the one left out of the whole pseudo sentai thing.

I was too far away to do anything more than watch.

Sylvie turned and winked at me... I smirked back... not sure what else I could do.

Priss looked around. "Well, since we're all here... Let's go,"

They were heading across to the RainyCity Nights, a few blocks away. There was a band there they wanted to hear. Unfortunately for myself, I had to finish my shift. They apologised before they left, they always did... while Sylvie seemed overjoyed to have been accepted into the group.

Good for her.

Still, something about her seemed a little...off. It took me a while to put my finger on what it was. It was something about how Sylvie had told Priss she was late... she'd expected Priss to be furious, and she didn't understand why she hadn't been.

Those eyes... for a moment they'd looked almost like a child's, looking up at a particularly trunchbullian school principal.

Still... I was glad to see her living and being happy. She was making friends. She was getting herself a life and living it.

That was it. I knew I'd made the right choice. Sylvie was building a life for herself as a _person_ and I wasn't going to take that away from her. I wasn't going to even risk taking that away. I wasn't going to tell the others she was a boomer.

We closed for the night, and I finished cleaning up. It set our boomers recharging and thanked them for a night's work. Whether they appreciated it or not, I'd never know, but I guessed that maybe, not being an asshole to them would help keep them from going buggo.

Most of the people who vented at labour boomers were generally assholes anyway who took out their frustrations with their own life on some mindless creature that was forced by hardware blocks to be subservient. They forgot that you could only kick a dog so many times before it bites back.

They looked at boomers the way they looked at a toaster, when even the most basic model was a far more complicated thing.

I changed out of my workwear, stashing it in a bag in the left pannier of my motorcycle before I changed into my leathers. I didn't wear figure hugging leathers to be sexy, I wore them because if they didn't hug close to my body, the armour'd move in an accident. It wouldn't protect the parts it was supposed to protect.

I pushed my bike out of the cellar and up onto the lift which'd take it up to the alleyway. I started the engine and turned on the headlights, before shutting off the cellar lights for good. I rigged the building alarm to set the moment the cellar doors were shut, then rode with the bike on the lift, up into the night air.

Deep puddles remained on the ground from the rain earlier, sparkling and shining in the neon light. The lift came to a stop in the alleyway and I pushed the big K off it. I started it and left it to warm up while I sent the lift back down, and set about making sure the cellar door was properly locked and alarmed.

I smelled her before I heard her... those same distinctive pheromones from earlier. A nervous chill ran through my body as I turned around. Typically, she stood in the shadows.

"Sylvie," I said. I knew it was.

She stood there for an instant before lunging towards me. There was a flash of panic, and I tried to get back. She's not going to use _me_ to repair Anri, is she? I felt her arms close tight around my body and she pulled me close, squeezing my chest against hers.

It tingled wonderfully.

She started to cry softly on my shoulder, holding me as tight as she could. Not sure what to do, I just held her back, allowing her bodies warmth to soak into mine. I caught the faint odour of blood on her breath and shook it off.

"What is it?" I asked her.

"I never thought I'd find another one of us down here," she whimpered. "Not someone who's been living for nearly a year."

She pushed back, smiling at me... right at me with tears of sheer joy running down her cheeks. I could smell it. I could _feel_ her joy. She was broadcasting it on all channels, and I was picking it up and riding along with it. It pulled my own mood right up.

"Meg," she said. "There's two of us here. Will you help us?"

"I will. Of course I will"

Without a second fucking thought. I just hugged her back even tighter. I could save her. I could save Anri too. I knew I could.

I...I

I followed her through the streets, The rain had come back, soaking me through to the skin. Oh well... even in the future waterproofs aren't. There was always something intoxicating about riding a motorcycle through the neon-lit streets of Tinsel City. Especially when the rainwater had turned the road surfaces into liquid mirrors. It was a cacophony of light and colour and noise

It reminded me of why I loved living in Megatokyo.

Each little raindrop sparkled and shimmered with the reflections of a thousand lights, a million multi-hued sparks falling from glowing clouds.

It reminded me why I loved being a 33-S

My cyber-senses and artificial synapses allowed me to experience so much beautiful detail.

Sylvie rode with a precision that couldn't be anything but programmed. She always shifted at the same RPM, going up and down the gearbox, adjusting a little for how hard she wanted to go. She always leaned the same amount, her body in an identical position through each corner. It was oddly fascinating, compared to my own learned skills which were still rough round the edges.

But given a straight bit of road, and some time to get the turbo the spool up, I could still scare the crap out of her coming by with a crack and spit of flame from the anti-lag and a whistling drone like a Zero fighter at take-off. She shot past me, racing with the ear-splitting rasp of a V4 2-stroke perpetually spinning within a few RPM's of mechanical destruction, chased by the sweet smell of burning 2-stroke oil.

We were only missing Priss and that terrifying Banshee yowl from that high-revving open-piped V8, spinning up its back tyre on every corner.

It was a little crazy. It was fun, it was intoxicating. Baiting the Sausage Creature. Stick it in top gear and whack the throttle full open at 1500 RPM. Hear the turbo whistle, sucking up great gobs of cool night air, feeling strangely like a great elastic band was winding up beneath me, the straight-4 vomiting torque, kicking the tail up with the shaft-drives reaction, surging forward with a shove up the backside that sent visceral tingles through my body. It screamed when the wastegate opened, blowing blue flame.

Back off, let the turbo cough and bang on the anti-lag for a few seconds before exhaling through the blow off valve.

Sylvie came buzzing past moments later. Repeat the cycle

Stop at traffic lights. Set the launch control. It popped and banged and spat fireballs as I pinned the throttle to the stop. The needle on the boost gauge flickered, bouncing off its pegs. The tacho held steady at 4500. Sylvie built the revs, leaning forward, pinning it on the redline.

Green light. Dump the clutch, hang on!. That same delicious shove in the back and I lunged forward, gaining meters off the line through virtue of shorter gearing and sheer brute penetrating torque. Second gear slammed home, and Sylvie was still slipping the clutch to get it going. The big K ran out of revs fast. Third gear, and Sylvie had just managed to get properly hooked up. The rev's hardly dropped as she slotted second into place.

I had about three meters on her, loosing ground with every gearshift. Slam into Fourth and she gained a little bit more. Another burp and she hit third, gaining speed fast.

By fifth gear we were level.

Red light ahead. Brake!

The pair of us skidded and squealed to a halt, sandwiching some old lady in a kei-car. She was blind stinking terrified of us.

Green light, one more drag race. I started laughing with the sheer joyous exuberance of it. We were free, really free. We were teasing pedestrians when we stopped and buzzing cars as we ran. This was fun. This was what life was about.

We left District Three behind, moving into Four. The buildings grew darker, more dilapidated. The roads started the get cracked. Suspension clattered off potholes, dirty water splashing up all over us. We'd gotten under the thin neon veneer, and were riding through the rotten chipboard underneath.

We slowed down, and I started to follow. I pulled up behind her, under an old elevated railway bridge that'd survived the quake. Both bikes were chained to one of its supports, then to each other to make life double hard for a would-be thief.

The apartment block was old, with the concrete fascia split off from some of it's columns by weathering, revealing the steel supports underneath. Someone'd daubed "Respect Ancient Japan School" on the door in rough Kanji, and stencilled in an Imperial Japanese flag. The _KSNRT _were about... Fucking Nazis.

There was something else about the Yasakuni shrine, but it was written in a way that'd make it near impossible to read by foreigners who only knew the local Gaigo dialect.

The lights were on inside... barely. One buzzed and flickered, while the other barely managed to highlight the dead flies which'd collected inside. Some aged cyberpunk was sprawled out in a puddle of rainwater on the floor, typing commands into a keyboard jacked into his skull.

He gasped with pleasure , eyes rolling into the back of his skull as his body started to shudder. A direct shot of adrenaline and endorphines, electronically triggered. Illegal as hell.

It left a person so fried, they just starved to death will still riding that endorphin train.

"Just up these stairs," Sylvie told me.

"Sure," I said. "What a shithole," I muttered under my breath. Rain was getting in through an open window, pooling in hollows on the tiled floor. It'd clearly been doing it for some time...

She seemed oblivious as to how bad the place actually was. I followed her up some concrete stairs. One step had split right open, a red river of rust running down from the expose rebar inside. I felt it move as I stepped on it. Halfway up the building, we came to a PVC door. Apartment 413.

"Here we are Meg," Sylvie grinned at me, "Here's home."

Through that door was Anri. I was tingling inside with anticipation. It squealed like a stabbed pig as it opened, Sylvie wincing. I could oil that, I thought.

"Anri, I'm home," Sylvie called out.

"Sylvie?" a voice answered, small and a little bit mousey.

I started to get chills. Closing the door behind me, I stepped inside.

It was dark. The air was thick the smell of sweat and sex and mildew. I could smell Anri. She had the same pheromone trace as Sylvie, as me. I could smell noodles, cheap curry spice. Streetlights outside provided the only illumination through two small windows. It was a dirty blue light, stained yellow, red and green by the neon lights of a Yakuza bar across the street. Underwear was spilled across the floor, mixed with cheap cast-off clothes. A mans pair of shoes had been thrown into the corner. There was a small old-style flatscreen television, a kerosene-burning cooker, a squat refrigerator and a pair of dirty beds.

It was a fucking shithole.

Anri was laying on an old bed in her underwear. She was small, about Nené's size and built to match. Sylvie and I were built to be athletic, to be action girl types. Anri appealed to the Japanese 'Kawaiiko' fascination. She was sweetness made flesh, with a cheery smile, bright shining eyes and evergreen hair. She had a child's face almost, innocent and amazed that I was standing there in front of her.

"Guess what Anri," Sylvie said, boiling with excitement "I found someone. I found another one of us. Another sexaroid."

Anri gasped. "Really?"

"This is Meg."

"Another Meg…" Anri said, trailing off before she could think of something to say.

Another Meg, that was creepy. I gave her a nervous smile. "Hi," They were 33-S, like me. Sylvie was already peeling herself out of her leathers. A quick glance told me that, aside from skin tone, everything beneath the neck had come from the exact same parts bin as my own body. She had the exact same amazon build.

"You can't be comfortable standing around in those," she said, eyeing me up.

"Mine are tailored," I boasted.

"Really?" Anri gasped again, blushing a bright pink. "Does that mean?" She glanced over at Sylvie, then at me. "How long have you been free?"

All my life.

"Nearly a year," I answered.

Sylvie was staring at me wide-eyed. She sat herself down on an empty bed, her eyes shimmering with tears. She opened her mouth, closed it again, then looked over at Anri, who looked back at her.

"We hoped we'd last six months," Sylvie said, her voice near drowned out by traffic in the street. She took a deep breath and looked up at me, standing there feeling a little bewildered. "The others didn't even get off the station,"

Anri whimpered quietly.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"But…." Her words caught in her throat for a moment. She gazed at me, eyes wide with what I thought might be joy. "If you can live for so long…"

"Maybe we can?" Anri finished for her. She sounded like she was asking permission. Scratch that. She sounded almost like she was begging me.

Leon knows what I am. Leon is looking for Sylvie. I might've led Leon right to them. I might've led all of us to the slaughter. Maybe that's why he let me go? Maybe he figured I was lying to him, that he'd follow me and see who talked to me? Stupid me.

The door bursts in, a flashbang scuttling across the floor, a brilliant white light punctuated by the stutter of a machinegun and then…. we're nothing but bloody mannequins being picked out of the glass by some smarmy cop.

I glanced back at the door. It was solid. Sirens warbled in the streets outside. I nearly threw up before realised they were N-police sirens. It was a totally different pattern. Idiot Meg!

"Something wrong?" Sylvie asked me.

A couple outside was having an argument. A dog was barking A woman screamed. A man was laughing. There was crying. There was pleading. More screaming. None of my concern.

You're just being paranoid Meg. A healthy paranoia. Take a deep breath. Take a moment to cool down.

I forced a smile "I said I'll help you,"

Anri lit up like a spark. "You know what this means, now that there're two of you?"

"Yeah," Sylvie nodded. "We won't have to risk it anymore."

Sylvie had stripped down to a lightweight slip and her panties.

"Are you sure you want to stay in your leathers?" she purred at me. There was a lusty gleam in her eyes. I started to unzip myself, laughing nervously.

"You've never been around other sexaroids, have you Meg?" Anri asked me. Her face was the picture of impish curiosity. "We're the first you've met?"

"Yeah," I admitted, feeling just a little ashamed.

But it was quickly obvious that lounging around my apartment in my underwear wasn't just a personal preference, it was almost our natural state. There was something strangely reassuring about that. I wasn't human, and I wasn't alone in that. I could let my body out and relax and be comfortable.

I could feel the dirt on the floor underfoot.

"Jeez, what a dump." I mumbled.

Sylvie frowned crossly at me. "Everywhere else demanded ID. And they make us pay double."

Dare I ask. "How can you afford that?"

Anri giggled. "Can you imagine how surprised we were to find humans down here would actually pay money for sex!"

My first reaction was to wince uncomfortably.

Sylvie gave me a quizzical look for a moment, as if she didn't understand why that was a problem.

I understood why she didn't understand at least.

She couldn't. Sylvie just wasn't wired up to have a natural reaction to it. Infact, we were wired up specifically not to. Couple that with three years of life on that station, expected to perform on demand, compared to 20 years of cultural background I had telling me such things were wrong filling in that gap.

Well, to put it into a purely human perspective...Imagine how surprised you would be to find someone would pay to shake your hand for an hour... and imagine being able to invoke a desire so strong in them to shake your hand, that they'd pay whatever you wanted just to shake your hand.

Wouldn't that seem like a great deal?

Now remember. Sylvie wasn't human. Sylvie never was a human being. She just looks like one on the surface. She was still built for a specific purpose. None of that means she isn't a person either... I don't consider myself a human being anymore, but I still consider myself a person.

Whether that's the true horror of being a 33-S, or a blessing in disguise is something I didn't want to get into. I knew what I could do... and it still made my human side cringe. I knew I could... but there was a reason I didn't. I might not have had the same hardwiring as a human, but I did have two decades of cultural upbringing which told me exactly why getting into a strangers car off the street was a bad idea.

Still... something about it seemed uncannily like using the tools of the oppressors against them. Humans hardwired us to be capable of some damned disturbing things... sometimes I wonder if our very existence isn't a damning indictment of humanity as a whole... but something about turning those abilities against humanity for our own advantage seemed strangely thrilling.

It felt like a victory for the underdog.

"It's still pretty dangerous," I told her. "You'd be much safer getting a real job,"

"Why?" Anri asked.

"Well, it's illegal and will get you arrested for one," I answered, "It's dangerous. You're living in a human society, you have to live by their social rules. If you don't... at best you stand out. At worst... well." The answer was obvious. Humans love to hammer the nails that stand out.

The two 33-S shared a confused look with each other. "But," Sylvie said, "Women do it,"

"Not by choice," I answered. Then stopped. "Well... not always. It depends. Humans are very complicated." I smiled. And that was the truth. "But..." I took a deep breath and sighed. This is such a complicated topic to discuss with 33-S at 3am. "... just, trust me on it for now. I've been living with humans for a while,"

They both looked dubiously at each other. "Alright..." Sylvie said hesitantly. "I'll call it off." She looked at Anri again, the turned to me. "But...then we won't have enough money for food, or for the apartment,"

"I've saved plenty," I assured her. And I knew I was about to regret what I was going to say next, but just couldn't stop it from coming out. "And I have my own place. It's a little smaller, but it's cleaner and in a safer part of town."

They both looked a little uncomfortable, but nodded. Anything would be better than this dump.

"Still..." Sylvie said, "Maybe you might explain to us why it's wrong."

What a bloody hard question to answer.

"Because it degrades you as a person. It reduces your value. It's..." I paused, holding up my hand. "It's hard to say really,"

She frowned. "It didn't reduce the value of anyone on Genaros who used us,"

"Because they were total pricks," I snapped back at her, startling her. "They had no value as people in the first place, so they compensated by taking yours,"

Judging by her expression, she didn't get it. I buried my face in my hands. How the hell do I talk about this? I was right about one thing... we really are a damning indictment of humanity. A result of some dipshits perverse ideal...

The ultimate objectification of a human being. We were living thinking creatures, replica people, created for one purpose and to be bought and sold as commodities. And the 33-S series, didn't only come with a female chassis design.

I took a deep breath to cool myself off. Sometimes, maybe Bender's solution was right. I had tried to be a good person... I tried to avoid the whole damn thing because it was so easy to fuck it up and fuck someone elses life up and I just didn't want to risk that.

Call me old fashioned.

Even now... there's a specific reason I only go with a partner who specifically asks me. I never ask them. It's the only way I can be certain it's their own choice. I liked to think I could use my sexuality now to make people who actually deserved it happy... or at least feel good about themselves.

Maybe that is a little crazy, but somehow it felt right.

I sat on Anri's bed in my underwear. It wasn't something they'd understand in one night. They'd only truly pick it up the same way humans did... with time, and through being out there with other people. All I had to worry about was giving them the time to pick it up...

Just keep them alive.

And try remembering that there are good people out there. Even if I am terrified of them. Maybe Leon was genuine.

I sat there while Sylvie explained to me how they'd escaped,

"We had to... they were planning to erase our minds because we'd grown to independent,"

Destroying everything that they were, leaving only a zombie with their name and appearrance and a base personality template. It wasn't a person being erased... just a macine.

She told me how they'd planned everything, how someone had pulled some strings in the background with security for them. Someone who liked their services, Sylvie suspected. I knew the story… I knew the end. Sylvie was holding Anri tightly while she spoke.

"Lou got shot by them," she said.

Anri went very quiet, staring at me.

"Your sister was holding her to the end," Sylvie finished for her. "Meg protected her,"

Sister? That was…. That was… I would never have thought of it like that. It forced me to picture myself in the same position. I just couldn't do it… I just couldn't see myself holding onto someone for dear life with certain death looming over us both. I'd either be running away, or going down like Priss with all guns blazing.

Nam made Sylvie promise to get Freedom enough for all three who didn't make it. I promised Sylvie I'd help her get it.

I got to watch Sylvie re-bloodening Anri. The actual name was something long and dry and complicated. I sat there, watching Sylvie slowly approach, mouth open. Tenderly, she pressed her lips against Anri's shoulder, before biting through.

Anri gasped. One brief instant of pain on penetration and a trickle of glowing pink blood winding down her back was followed by a strange look of bliss passing across her face. The pair embraced, pulling themselves tighter together.

I found myself rubbing my shoulder, left with the perplexed feeling that something far more intimate was going on than just a blood transfusion.

I...I

I didn't actually get to sleep that night... I didn't mind. 3 sexaroids in a bedroom together, just imagine what we did with each other. Slurp, tickle, slide, giggle, strawberry, vanilla and chocolate. When morning came around, I felt far more refreshed than an active night would suggest.

Hot Lesbian 3-way sex was a great way to de-stress, I heartily recommend it.

It was nice to be inhuman for a night. It was nice for it to be okay to be a machine.

The city was bustling with the usual rush hour traffic. News radio warned of another double-murder. My mere presence had put a stop to that. Nice and easy. More proof that I was on the right track. I was doing the right thing.

I was following Sylvie through the morning traffic. Both of us on our bikes were incising through lines of stopped cars.

I felt free. I felt strangely dirty after spending a night in that shithole. I promised myself I'd have a hot shower when I got home, after Sylvie showed me her little surprise down in the fault The DD. This was going to be fun. The first inkling of a plan was starting to form in my mind.

Sylia would kill me for trying, but it really looked like it'd work.

Murders were already stopped. Now I just have to keep the pair alive. Anri needs to be repaired properly, that means I have to get that datadisc from the GPCC somehow. Can't take her to Raven, Raven will tell Sylia. Disarm the bomb aboard the DD to make it safe. Then with Anri repaired and everything going tickety-boo, give the pair Sylia's contact details and then trade the DD for some docs. Some ID papers that'd stand up to scrutiny would be cheap compared to what she'd be paid for the DD.

I catch hell from Sylia for it. But the secret stays safe, Sylvie and Anri are happy and free, everybody wins. Just once, everyone wins.

In cold morning sunlight, it seemed possible. It seemed the perfect balance. Not betraying Sylia. Not betraying Sylvie.

This will work. And maybe I could sit them down and show them Bladerunner tonight.

Roads were still slick and wet from last nights rain. Most pedestrians wore macintoshes or raincoats. A few neon signs had shorted out overnight, water having gotten into the electrics. Timex City had flooded again. A foreign shopfront had been burned out. On the radio, things were escalating between NATO and the Eastern Bloc. Troops were moving up to reinforce Fulda and Alsfield.

The shadow of thermonuclear destruction loomed large.

The cleanup of Daini reached a major milestone, while opposition to the fusion plant under the bay grew by the day. They were moved on by the police. There were the usual rumours that GENOM would try get itself declared a sovereign state.

It'll happen when dragons reappear.

A slip off the main bayshore highway dove down into the fault. The dark end of the fault was a slum. It was the part of the city the dropped and half-collapsed into itself. While the midtown parts had been rebuilt, this whole place was just a mass of rubble and squats hacked together out of the rubbish. Buildings missing walls had them replaced by sheets of plastic. Cars made for houses. Bango Skank had been down there spraying his name

It made District 4 look high-market. This is where you go when you get fired from your Genom job. This is where you go with your family when you're made redundant by a boomer that doesn't ask for healthcare, holidays or a wage beyond a little technical maintenance.

I work in a bar. If it wasn't for my Saber job, I'd be living paycheck to paycheck. As it was, being able to set up an automatic refill debit from a Zurich bank account when my normal account went a little low had saved my ass from paycheck-swallowing overdraft charges more than once.

Some kids chased a ball into the street. It floated on a puddle.

Slums gave way to a junkheap, mountains of debris piled up against slumping mud walls. The dregs of society picked through the trash of the past in the hope of finding something worth a day's meal. It was a good place to make sure that things stayed hidden.

Sylvie stopped opposite the remains of a sign advertising the old cybernetics bank.

'Giving you bodies beyond your wildest imagination'.

I smirked wryly as Sylvie signalled me to stop. I'm the ultimate in cybernetics. I'm the ultimate in transhumanism.

Sylvie killed her engine and got off her bike, wearing a bright toothy grin that lit up the entire canyon. I pulled up beside her and shut the BM down.

"Here we are Meg!"

I knew where.

"Where are we?"

"I can't hear you," she said.

"Where are we?" I yelled.

"Take your helmet off," she giggled.

Stupid thing. It didn't even have a flip up face. I thought the little cat-ear ram-air scoops would be nifty to keep my head cool. In reality, they kept me from opening even the visor more than a crack.

I was a bad idea. It was an expensive bad idea. I cursed it as I undid a stupidly overcomplex chin strap, removed a catch that warned anyone coming across my cooling body at the side of the road not to take the helmet off, before finally getting the stupid yellow thing off my head and hooked onto the side of the bike.

"There," I sighed. "Now, where are we?"

"The DD!" she announced with a flourish. "Just wait there and I'll show you,"

She was the kid who wanted to show off her newest toy. Her enthusiasm was a contagious disease. I watched her disappear under a pile of junk which might once have been half of an apartment building. Seagulls quarked to themselves, picking at the discarded bones of society. The sea was about 30 metres away. I could hear it rushing between rubble. I could smell it.

Open sewers didn't smell that bad.

After about a minute or so, the debris heap began to shift. Something big was stirring beneath it. Something that sent shivers of panic running through my frame. Sheets of steel sloughed off, concrete beams which weighed more than my bike split like twigs and tumbled to the ground.

The almost-humanoid DD emerged with eyes glowing red, standing full twice the height of a battleboomer, looming malevolently over my head. For one brief moment, I was reminded of that night back in the old Silky Doll, staring helplessly up at that Bu 12 and it's big fucking gun. I felt that same twist-my-guts fear as I stared up at it.

Red armour, scorched, dusty and dirty. A dirty big gatling cannon on its shoulder tracked for targets. 3-clawed hands gripped and clasped. They could crunch me into a ball of chunky biomimetic goo in a heartbeat. It moved like a ghost. No whining actuators. No whirring motors. No deep thrum of a power supply, only the heavy earth-shaking thump of its feet coming down on the concrete, sending chips spraying with each footfall.

Sylia, I know what I want for Christmas.

The cockpit in the chest popped open, Sylvie sitting with her hands on the controls, a big fat grin plastered on her face and a red glint in her eyes.

"What do you think Meg?"

What else could I think?

"When do I get a go?"

She got out. I clambered in. Snug, not too comfy. Just a little on the side of claustrophobic really. It smelled of Sylvie inside. It smelled faintly of blood. Something about it made me tingle in private places, and reminded me that I'd forgotten to reset a few things from last nights fun.

They were right, it was more fun when I enabled physical and chemical attractions.

The name DD was short for Duplex Drive. The DD had two modes, a slow, steady bipedal mode that was a hell of a gun platform while allowing it to squish things with its hands, while a stealthy quadruped mode that still allowed it to bring its big guns to bear while crunching around rubble.

And it was fun to pilot. Push one throttle to go forward, another for pitch. Lean into a turn with the foot pedals. Sensors gave me an immersive 3d map of the canyon, interfacing with the Soviet Glonass system to give me accurate positioning down to the centimetre.

I stomped around the base of the fault, smashing car wrecks and throwing chunks of buildings weighing tens of tonnes through the air. It was intoxicating, it was addictive. It was sobering to rifle through a few settings and find that the J1 systems was still monitoring, and the neutron bomb was online, but safe.

I'd have to remove that thing.

It made me giggle. It made me feel like a Bond villain. I was driving an atomic bomb. Heh….Bing, bake, boom. If it goes off in the middle of Tokyo, with global tensions the way they are, things were liable to get a little MAD. It was such an awfully terrifying thing, I just had to laugh.

I could destroy the world. I had more power than a Third World country.

The fun, as usual had to end. The DD had to be parked. Shift some debris around it, collapse a building on top of it, not even the scrap merchants skulking around the fault could find it. Embrace Sylvie, leather sliding over leather, breast to breast, lips to lips, and agree to find a café where we could discuss the future.

It was 10:07:32 when we found an out of the way Vietnamese place that rejoiced in the name 'Phat Phuc', with an image of a smiling Buddha beside the name. I think the only reason anyone ever went in there was for the English language pun. It wasn't for the food. It was a cheap and cheerful fare, with plastic-wooden furniture and a faux-Vietnamese aesthetic. Behind the counter was a glass-eyed cyberdroid who seemed to stare at us both as we entered.

It was quiet in the café, with most of the morning rush having long made it to work. I paid for it, naturally. Most of Sylvie's money went straight to her slumlord, who'd made usury and extortion a fine art. Sylvie's building was full of undocumented illegal immigrants, junkies and fried cybers flirting with boomeroid syndrome hoping to avoid the ADP, the sort marginalised people who didn't have the standardised identification needed to actually legally rent a place.

All he had to do was threaten to turn them over to the cops if they didn't pay, and sexaroid pheromones didn't work over a telephone to negotiate a better rate. The son-of-a-bitch probably never left his building in Tinsel City. He was the sort who'd apply a 'rogue boomer' to encourage a tenant to pay up.

Sylvie just cradled a bowl of soup like it was solid gold. She was staring at her reflection in the liquid.

"I didn't think being free was so hard," she said, quietly. "On the station, they gave us food, maintenance, they tried to protect us,"

"Second thoughts?"

"No!" she said, emphatically. "I'm glad we tried. I like being able to do what I want, when I want. You know what it's like to be property, don't you?"

No.

"Yeah," I lied to her. Switch tracks. "My last owner, she bought me looking for a particularly hot lingerie model. When she realised she got more than just a doll, she gave me the choice of living as her property, or she'd give me a leg-up into the real world. She gave me a fake ID, and helped set me up with a job."

I actually had quite a bit to be grateful to Sylia for, come to think of it. Even if I'd never seen her again after day one, and despite her being something of a chessmaster… She was polite and friendly about it, and did her best to keep us happy.

"Can I see?"

"Sure,"

It was the same resident's card I'd gotten from Sylia nearly a year ago. Worn and scratched and battered, but the Social Identification Number under my picture came up valid in any Government Database. Good for residency and work in the Megatokyo Special Administration area. Good for visiting Japan.

"Could you get one of these for us?" she asked, tentatively.

That was the idea.

"Maybe. Maybe…" Now to float the first part of my crazy plan. "I think. That DD has to be worth something to somebody, maybe the people she paid for the ID."

She gave me an aside glance, thinking about it. She looked just a little…. Uncertain of herself. "We sort of… We sort of, we need it,"

"Why?"

She surveyed the room. Everyone was looking at us. But nobody seemed to be paying attention to what we were saying. As usual. A snippet of another conversation intruded, coming from two OL's out for brunch at a table against the far wall.

"Oh did you hear? There was another one last night in Tinsel City, a couple in the park. The same sort of vampire. They say the killer used some sort of large scale boomer to smash the car"

Sylvie seemed to shrink three sizes, glancing at me before glancing over at them.

"Oh how awful." The second cried. "At least you're safe. He only goes after pretty young women"

"Shut up!" the second yelled. "I'm still 29 you know,"

"For the last three years?"

It devolved into the usual arguments. Sylvie was very quiet, sitting there looking like a scolded puppy. It was only then that I remembered she hadn't actually told me. She pursed her lips, shrinking down into a pout.

"It was the only way to save Anri," she said.

She killed 8 people. How was I supposed to feel about it? I was supposed to be appalled, or vengeful or calling for the cops while telling her I wanted nothing more to do with her, something 'right', something more than calmly apathetic. Truthfully, I really didn't give a crap. They were just names on a broadsheet, not real people.

If I'd just found out about it right then and there, I might've been more bothered. I'm sure someone could've given me a speech on justice for the victims, and I'm definitely sure that, depending on who was writing the comic, turning Sylvie in would be the 'right thing to do'. Justice for innocent victims.

It was all a fucked up mess really.

Pick my side. I picked Sylvie. Picking the side of justice and law would get me killed. Picking Sylvie felt right. We were both boomers.

"I guessed as much," I told her.

She seemed to relax a little. "Now that you're here, we don't have to anymore. We won't have to risk getting caught,"

Yup. She was more concerned about getting caught, than she was about killing people. I rationalised it away as desperation and fear, even if it made me feel just a little bit uneasy. I was a Knight Saber. I was a mercenary. I'd seen people die. I'd let people die because it was too risky to try save them.

"We won't get caught," I promised her. "I've been here nearly a year,"

Leon knows what I am. If he's watching me and sees Sylvie? I put it to the back of my mind.

"I still can't believe that,"

I just smiled at her. Staying alive for ten months suddenly felt a lot more like an accomplishment.

"But, we don't need the DD anymore for…" I searched for a euphemism, and failed spectacularly. "Doing that thing. "

"That's not what we need it for," she said.

Now I was curious. And worried. This was bound to be something which wasn't in the original OVA, something I didn't know about.

"Remember we decided to escape because they wanted to wipe us?" she said. I nodded. "And I said we had help getting off the station, someone who gave us guns and rearranged the security patrols. Well, we have to do a job for him,"

Why didn't she tell me last night?

"What job?"

I tried to hide my irritation. Judging by her expression, I failed.

"They gave me the location of a datadisk with the formulation for our blood on it. In exchange, they want me to get a file on the movements of a minister in the City Government. "

The noodles fell clear off my chopstick at that point. Alarm bells started ringing in my mind as I began to join the dots. Government Minister. There was only one I could remember being mentioned and that was the defence minister, Abraham 'Harry' Callahan. They called him Harry, because everyone knew the shit was dirty.

And who kidnapped the Defence Minister in episode 6?

As Priss would say; chigushó. Bringing Largo into things at this stage added a whole new layer of complexity to things. What the hell did Largo want with them? With us?

Sylvie stared at me for a second "What?"

Cover up.

"You can't just kidnap a government minister like that," I whispered, sharply. As soon as I realised what I'd said, I winced.

Sylvie frowned, "Not kidnap, just get information on his movements,"

I buried my face in my hands, exhaling a frustrated sigh. Stealing corporate information was standard Knight Saber stock-in-trade, but Largo threw it all through a loop. Nothing was simple with Largo now involved.

"So you don't want to help us any more? What happened to your promise?" Her eyes were staring right through me, sharp and hard.

I can't bail on her. I'd never forgive myself. I can't… what the hell can I do? I'll have to figure this out.

"It is not that. It's just…" I closed my eyes for a second, then glanced over at the OL's who were still bickering, "I lived here so long by not doing things which drew attention to myself, or got the police looking for me."

It's why I learned Japanese the hard way and spent most of the year speaking like a child rather than just downloading a language pack. Because instant comprehension of a language would've had people asking uncomfortable questions. Human beings can't do that. . It's about not rocking the boat. It's about not drawing too much attention to yourself, not encouraging people to look into your background.

And now they are looking at me, thanks to her.

She looked at me, then at her bowl, sighing a little. "You have to understand, we didn't have a choice."

Well, there were always bloodbanks. And that's easy to say in a comfortable café when you're not scared shitless of dying.

"I know. I'll think of something."

I was resting my face against my hand, trying to get my head around this. Why would Largo need something stolen from the GPCC, isn't he already in there? Sylia Stingray I am not.

"I already have the details," Sylvie told me. "It's in the chairman's office, at the GPCC building, just off the South Bayshore Drive/Beltway interchange. I was going to ride down with Priss later to look at it, to find a way in."

In for a penny, in for a pound.

"And how are they contacting you?"

"He gave me a cellphone. He call's me on that,"

He. Definitely Largo. I started to smirk a little. At least that had been confirmed.

"What?" she questioned.

"I think I might have an idea. When were you planning to break in?"

"Tonight, if I can. Maybe early in the morning."

"Raincheck?" I suggested. "We might be able to do a better job if we spend some time planning, and working it together."

I wanted time to think this through.

She studied me, thinking it over. "Sure," she smiled. "Maybe one of us can control the DD while one of us goes in,"

"Exactly!"

Yes. Raiding the building would be the easy part. I've done that before, with and without hardsuits. Largo was the complication. Something had to go to Largo. Largo had an edge, I had the feeling Largo was using them as catspaws. But, God-delusioned man-boomers aside, it was a simple job.

I just had to be wary of a stinger I knew was out there.

Sylvie finished her soup, before launching into a plate of spicy noodles. She was like me, she needed starchy foods to live. She mixed in the sugar from the condiments, all of it, for an even bigger boost of energy. Ew, I thought. Survival came before taste I know but Sylvie wasn't starving.

"So tell me," she managed to get out between mouthfuls, "How have you managed to avoid the Knight Sabers?" I nearly did a spit-take. "Don't they hunt boomers?"

I laughed nervously, glancing back over my shoulder "Why do you think I keep a low profile?"

Both of us started cackling at each other.

We left well fed, heading back to that shithole they called an apartment. It was getting on midday, and lunchtime traffic was filling the streets. Office drones scuttled between work and lunch, then back again leaving a trail of uneaten food behind as they did their damnedest to prove they had initiative and drive by rushing back to their desks ten minutes early.

"Anri, we're back!" Sylvie called out. The door slammed shut behind me.

She edge off her bed, looking just a little shy. "One of your clients called. She wants to know what time to come over,"

Sylvie glanced back at me and winked. "If anyone calls, tell them no."

Good. That's safe. No unnecessary dramatic tension and arguing. No way some crazy jilted lover can screw things up by going buggo to hide his indiscretions from his wife. No cop stings.

Now we need them to stay somewhere safer. I invited them to stay at my apartment.

They agreed.

This was going great.

I…I

I had some time to think. I had to head out and pick up some cheap bedding and get it delivered, then be sure I got to work in time to open the bar up. The fusion project protestors had blocked up the streets throughout Tinsel City, causing a nightmarish traffic snarl. It seems like the up and coming executives hurrying back to work were going to be late. A black mark against their name, and a tut-tut from a boss who never actually left his office. On two wheels I had no problem.

The plan I had was simple enough. Like all good plans really.

Step 1; strip the nuclear bomb out of the DD, then figure out how to bypass the J1 thing.

Step 2; buy a gun with armour piercing ammunition. Largo insurance.

Step 3; ponder the final disappearing dregs of my humanity before hardwired mental blocks get in the way

Step 4; hit the GPCC at night. I'm 33-s. I can handle the guards.

Step 5; run like hell. Lead any chasing boomers into an ambush. Sylvie obliterates them with the DD

Step 6; give Sylvie Sylia's contact details. Or Fargo's. Have her demand ID in exchange. It'll be cheap for Sylia.

Step 7; ignore anything else from Largo. Maybe give the phone to Sylia.

Step 8; I win. Everybody lives. All secrets kept. Three way sexaroid love-in.

A little more complicated in parts than that, but it works. I'd figure out the details later.

Step zero. Figure out how to strap a pair of cheap bedrolls to a motorcycle and get them home. Then I have to rush out and pick up Anri because Sylvie's bike doesn't have a passenger seat. Get it all done before worktime. Just the little daily challenges.

I hope it doesn't rain.

It was a quick run through traffic, relieving some old Honda of a mirror on the way, before scuttling through the junction before they could get my registration.

I parked it up outside Sylvie's building, chaining the BM to Sylvie's Suzuki. We had to help Anri down the stairs. Sylvie would ride by herself, while I took Anri. I gave her my helmet, for a brief moment getting an uncomfortable reminder of my first night in the city.

I didn't have a spare jacket, I just had some jean shorts and a t-shirt that was clearly intended for someone with more…talent than Anri had. She looked oddly out of place in them, a little like trying to get me into a dress… it just didn't fit. The helmet was a little oversized, even if it was filled a little by her hair. It gave her a real cat-eared bobble-head look.

"I feel silly," she murmured.

At least, I think that's what she said.

"It's better than the alternative," I assured her with a smile. Better an injury to the body than to the AI. The body could be repaired.

Even behind the smokey visor, I could tell she was giving me a dubious look.

I swung my leg over the saddle and settled into my usual comfortable place. It felt like an old leather couch, snug, safe and familiar and perfectly broken in to fit my body. "You ever been on a bike?"

"No," she said. Her head was angled down, staring at the saddle. She was looking at it with the trepidation of a dog looking at a bath.

"Just put one foot on the peg, swing your leg over onto the other, and hold those handles on the panniers."

After a few moments consideration, I felt her weight compress the suspension as she settled in. Her arms clasped tightly around my waist, drawing out warm memories of last night when she'd done the exact same, shortly before her soft fingers went south.

She yelped when I started the engine, gripping tighter as the bike lurched down off its centre stand. She was squeezing the air out of me as we both set off into traffic, a fearful shaking running up her arms.

Anri began to relax after a few minutes. Her grip loosened. I could see her head in the mirrors looking around a lot more. I was enjoying the feeling of ridding helmetless with the wind licking at my hair, moving through the world at speed. It was freedom in a nutshell. The ability to go wherever the hell I wanted, do whatever I wanted and not be afraid. We stopped at traffic lights up beside some businessman in a jealously maintained Porsche Turbo.

He gawked at us both. Wide-eyed, staring at our bodies. Anri's clothes had been blown by the wind to hug tightly her body, while I wore leathers that lovingly embraced my figure. A year ago, it had been embarrassing. Now…. Something was different. Oh well. The light turned green and I gassed the bike away, turning left. The Porsche nearly ran over a cyclist who kicked a mirror off the car in irritation.

I kept it to the backstreets for a short while, before peeling up onto the freeways, picking up speed. I could hear Anri behind me saying something, but hadn't a hope in hell of figuring out what. It was just swallowed up by the roar of the wind and the deep thrum of engine. She sounded like she was having a good time. A heavy truck thundered by, while I made conscious effort to keep from going to Priss velocities.

Killing myself or Anri in a high speed crash would be a stupid thing to do. Getting pulled over for speeding would be stupid too when your very existence makes you a fugitive.

The thought occurred to me that I might've been better off buying a spare helmet first right as siren began to warble. Feeling a shock of fear and cursing myself for being impatient, I glanced in the mirror to see a small ADP patrol car coming up fast, red lights strobing.

For a moment, I hoped it was going after someone else, but no. They seemed determined to pick on me. Motherfucker. Idiot Meg. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I could feel Anri grab on tightly, whimpering just a little bit. It flashed through my mind to gas it and run, to pull some distance over a light patrol car which'd get caught it traffic.

But, they already had the registration. The registration led back to me.

Stupid Meg.

Visions of a death in a hail of bullets flashed through my mind as I indicated towards the hard shoulder. Anri jabbed me in the back. "Go! Go! Go!" she was pleading. She was near to hysterics.

I turned back to her. "Just play this cool, Anri," I said. "It's just a traffic stop. Don't give them a reason to ask questions about you."

We stopped and waited. She nodded, not saying a word. She was shaking. Even as the engine spluttered to a halt., she was still shaking. She was her own personal earthquake. I recalled that mannequin. She'd been afraid. She'd been terrified. Then she died. Dead bang. Just a machine. They'd kill us just as easy as they'd kill her. Bike in gear. Kill-switch to run. Clutch in. All I had to do was prod the starter button, yank the throttle and be gone like a shot.

Anri'd gone dead stiff as the patrol car slipped in behind. The siren stopped. Keep it cool. Don't do anything rash.

Don't be so stupid again, Meg.

The car door opened. Pink Hair.

"Son of a bitch!"

Anri shrieked and clung on, burying herself into my back.

Nené appeared from behind the door, wearing a loon's grin with a datapad in her arms, already tapping out the ticket with the sort of glee felt by all nerds when they finally put one over on society. She ambled up towards me, taking deliberate time to savour her little moment of superiority. I growled in my throat.

"Don't worry Anri, She's a friend,"

For certain values of 'friend'. Seriously. What sort of friend would pull you over and fine you a painful fraction of a weeks wages for something as stupid as a goddamned helmet?

"Huh?"

"That's Nené. She's a friend of mine."

It sounded like Anri was whimpering. Another thought occurred to me. What happened if she panicked? What happened if she did something stupid, like try to eye-stun Nené? I swallowed my fears.

The cop was strutting towards my bike. Strutting! She stopped, inhaling a deep breath through her nostrils, trying to inflate her body like a pufferfish. There was no way she could seem dangerous, not when I still remembered official artwork of her licking a lollypop.

"Hi, Nené!" I beamed cheerfully.

She frowned, her face a mask of the stereotypically stern police office.

"Riding in public without a helmet," she said. "That's an automatic 8000 yen fine,"

"Nené, we're friends,"

"Rule 9," she declared. Rule 9 of the Knight Sabers. "Friendship is of no matter where the law is concerned,"

"I'll buy you cake," I offered with a smile. "Delicious and moist cake," I leered at her, rolling my tongue suggestively over the words. Chocolate cake with frosting she could lick clean off my naked body.

"Bribing an officer of the law!" she squealed in a mock fury, her cheeks turning the same shade of barbie pink as her hair. Her nostrils seemed to snort. "I'll try forget this when I write up the citation. License please,"

I narrowed my eyes at her, glaring at her through slits projecting raw anger while I fumbled through my pocket for my wallet. I flopped it open, pulling my card out, before reluctantly handing it over. She tugged it from between my fingers, cheerfully running it through her automated ticketing machine.

It read the card, transmitted the details of the offense over wireless link, automatically charged my bank account, which then automatically rescued itself from a crippling overdraft penalty by charging my Saber account, before finally printing out a nice little ticket informing me that I had just gifted the traffic authority for Megotokyo 8000 yen, and now had two demerits on my license,

"Thank you," Nené beamed, handing my license card back with the ticket.

I snatched it back. "Bloodsucker,"

Anri gripped on tight.

"So," she chirruped, eyeing up Anri, inspecting her "Aren't you going to introduce me to your new friend?"

My new friend was shaking.

"Nené," I said. "This is Anri," Pick a name, "Anri Stearman," I watched Nené's eyes widen. "Anri, this is my 'friend' Nené Romanova,"

"Pleased to meet you," Nene bowed deep, wearing a polite smile.

Anri swallowed… holding on tight. "…Likewise," she mumbled. It was hard to tell exactly.

Nené seemed to inspect her, zooming in close with both arms akimbo. "You didn't kidnap her, did you Meg?"

"No," I snarled at her. Think fast! "We met last night at Hot Legs after you all left with Priss and Sylvie. She's just a little embarrassed after last night"

"Oh?" Nené's eyebrow rose, her curiousity piqued. "What was that?"

Got her.

"Well, first there was basic foreplay" I started, matter of factly, "Anri began to manipulate my clitoris with her fingers, and I reciprocated until we both orgasmed simultaneously. Anri began to stimulate my nipples with her tongue, licking and sucking on them while I continued to stimulate her clitoris and the inner areas of her vagina until she orgasmed for the second time. After this, we both started with mutual oral sex, until we'd both orgasmed at least three times apiece. Then was a quick break while we found batteries for the vibrators."

My delivery was as dry and deadpan as a technical dissertation on the internal structure of a tennisball. It had all the enthusiasm of a government bureaucrat faced with the horrible possibility that he might actually have to perform work today.

"Stop!" Nené squealed. Her face was a flaming red, burning with embarrassment.

"Stop?" I raised a demonic eyebrow, "We haven't even finished foreplay yet…"

"You Perverts!" She screamed. Everyone on the street started, before turning to stare at us. What where they expecting, a mid-afternoon striptease?

I smirked at her, baring my canines like a fox to a rabbit… then started laughing. Her thought process stopped dead, like a car that'd run into a brick wall. She just sort of gawked for a few moments, mouth gaping open and closed, her eyes wide. She was a fish that'd suddenly had the surprise of finding itself yanked by its lips out of a nice comfortable pond and straight up into a cold universe where it suddenly found it couldn't breath or do more than beat itself to death against a rough wooden deck.

"You're joking…" she stuttered.

Anri started to giggle madly behind me, a dam breaking in her mind.

"Of course," I gave a warm comfortable smile. Of course I was making it up. Sylvie was in there too.

She dropped into one of those childish pouts of hers, before her radio emitted a crackle of voice.

"_Bravo Alpha two-niner-four, Bravo Alpha two-niner-four. Dispatch…."_

It hissed as it waited for a response. The cop fumbled with it in her hands, a little surprised.

"Dispatch, Bravo Alpha two-niner-four, send over,"

"_Bravo Alpha two-niner-four. McNichol's still waiting for you here. Did you get lost again?"_

I sniggered. Those green eyes shot me a vicious glare before slowly morphing into an expression as serious as cancer.

"There were another two murders last night," she said. "I have to go to the morgue with Leon. He has a theory." She sighed. "And Sylia wants me to report in on his investigation.

Anri gripped tight in reflex, going dead quiet. I bit my lip. I'd spent last night in the same bed as the person Leon was chasing. If he had any idea what I was doing, he'd kill me. If Nene had any idea what I was doing she'd tell him, and then he'd kill me. And Anri. And Sylvie. We'd all die.

"I won't keep you," I said, trying to hide a nervous quiver that was rising in the back of my throat.

I didn't even dare ask her to keep Anri a secret.

"Later Meg," Nené smiled at me.

"Laters."

Watching her drive off, I was left with this strange hollow feeling deep inside me. Something about it felt far more…false than it had a week earlier. I was just playing at being a human being, wasn't I?

Pondering on that, I started the bike back up, and set off home staying off the main highways. Anri was dead quiet and hanging on tight. We cruised through the streets, drawing as much attention as a pair of sexaroids on a turbocharged classic motorcycle deserved. This really was a bad idea, but it was much too late to go back. Fuck it. Keep going home.

Sylvie was parked up in the garage underneath, waiting astride her Suzuki.

"You made it!"

She seemed genuinely relieved. Something about her made doing the mundane seem like an accomplishment. With certain death stalking us in the shadows, maybe it was.

"No problem," I smirked.

Anri managed to pop the helmet off the head, dropping it to the concrete with a clatter that made me wince. Thanks for ruining it.

"We got pulled over by the police," Anri said. And that was awful! "I was so scared, but she was a friend of Meg's."

Sylvie concern melted into a relieved smile, "Nené?"

"Yup," I nodded with a smirk on my face. "Lucky it was her,"

Sylvie blushed just a little bit, "I met her last night. I think she's the only human who wants to be a boomer."

"What can I say, she's a cyberpunk."

Something about that made her giggle contagiously. It was hard not to catch it. With both bikes chained together, the three of us took a lift ride ten floors up. One of the walls had been covered with communist graffiti.

Children were playing in the corridor. Cops and boomers. Anri and Sylvie both stared at them…. the children stopped and stared back. From a purely technical standpoint, the three of us were probably younger than the three of them.

"Problem lady?" one of the boys demanded.

Sylvie slowly crouched down to look him in the eye. I started to wonder just what in the hell she was doing.

"What are you doing?" she asked them, in absolute innocence

The child backed up, puffing his chest out. I'm big. I'm older. I'm manly. I'm tough. "I'm in the ADPolice!," he announced. "I'm hunting boomers,"

Sylvie's expression flattened. She gave him this dim, disapproving look. The boy, about eight years old, was impervious to her gaze. "The ADPolice murder boomers," she said.

"How can you murder a machine?" the boy snorted, they aren't even alive.

Sylvie was ready to hit him. She was ready to beat the poor kid straight into the floor. I could smell it, a spicy, burning anger that rose up out of her body, a tension rippling through her frame. The boy suddenly realised he'd said something terribly wrong. He stepped back.

"Sylvie, he's just a child," I hissed, putting a firm hand on her shoulder.

Anri had stepped up, ready to defend her.

"What difference does that make?" Sylvie asked me.

"You're weird," the boy mumbled fearfully. He turned and ran, taking his friends with him.

"Let's just get going,"

My apartment was at the other end of the floor. The apartment building had once been a corporate office block, the owners just added partition walls between support columns, a basic sanitation system and then called the result an apartment block. The carpets hadn't been changed, they were still the same soul-sucking grey while the suspended ceiling predated the quake and allowed everything from rats, to conversations to cigarette smoke to cross between apartments.

There was a reason the place was cheap.

And yet, it was still infinitely better than the shithole I'd saved Anri and Sylvie from already. It was also a mess.

The first thing anyone noticed when the door opened was the clothes on the floor. The second thing were the dishes in the sink, and an old pot of instant noodles that were slowly turning into a brand new form of life. The third was the low flying airliner, rattling the windows. Finally, they noticed the view.

One whole wall was a pane of glass looking out over the bay. And the sun was doing its best to poke through the clouds and cast a brilliant shaft of light on the local MOS-burger.

Anri pressed herself against the glass, "It's beautiful."

Sylvie was looking around as if she wasn't quite sure what she was supposed to do next. She found the couch, then she found my bed.

"I'm riding south with Priss later," she told me, again. "Towards the Genom Production control Centre where our data is. Tonight, we can get it." She was grinning wide at me. "This time tomorrow we'll be truly free."

"Maybe, take a rain check on the break-in," I suggested.

"Why?"

"Because we don't want to rush into this with so much riding on it, and make stupid mistakes."

Yeah. Maybe I should listen to my own advice.

It was a quiet night.

I blamed the rain, and the creeping unease that was starting to spread through the city's residents that they could be next. I was dressed in one of my usual work outfits, which was making breathing a bit of an effort. There wasn't much to do.

The band were crap.

There wasn't much to do but pass the time

Warera, Rory and Conda were around. The look on their faces when I called them over to arrange a meeting to purchase a handgun was somewhere between stunned surprise, and smug satisfaction. This wasn't going to be cheap, but I had a war chest of my own built up.

I had cash.

A message came through from Sylia, asking to see me in the morning. Sure, no problem, after I pick up my new gun. I had to fix some equipment that broke, and the N-police were called after someone was beaten to within an inch of his left in the alleyway, after he stopped someone raping his girlfriend or something.

As usual, there was no CCTV footage because the tanned bastard beside us objected on privacy grounds.

We had a ten minute power failure after a minor tremor. That was fun. I learned my voice carried without the aid of the sound system. And I was subject to more passes than a Lada on an autobahn.

All in all, a normal day's work, for a normal day's pay.

All the while constantly looking forward to a night's entertainment back home. Maybe it might've been a better idea to get some sleep and restore the chemical balance in my head, but... sexaroid love. Given the choice between an even emotional keel and hot lesbian threesomes.

There was no choice.

What can I say? I was programmed for sex. And there was nothing wrong with enjoying my programming a little. The night was cold and dark, and seemed to be waiting for a storm to roll in. Largo. DD. Sylia. Knight Sabers. Saving the 33-S….. Saving my secret. It was all building into a big fat thunderhead, ready to rain on my parade. I knew it was going to fall down.

I just hoped it would hold off for long enough. Please hold off.

And remember to watch out for braindead drivers while trying to figuring out some way to deal with all this crap.

I pulled the old bike up in it's usual parking space…. Marked out by an oilstain on the concrete…. and chained it to a structural column. Nobody would steal such an old thing. I doubt anyone knew how to drill out an ignition barrel anymore anyway; most theft involved spoofing a key fob.

Sylvie's was unchained. Unlocked. And easy enough for me to wheel over and chain to my own. Safety in numbers. The lift had jammed again, with someone yelling for help inside. Being a caring and upstanding member of the community, I assumed someone else would call the rescue services and traipsed up the stairs cursing the oxymoron of a building maintenance company I paid money to every week.

It was still a long way off being a shithole. The hot water worked, the rain stayed out, there weren't any zapper-heads lying in the hallways in pools of their own shit, and the only swastikas on the wall were the ones on a poster suggesting a visit to a nearby temple would help bring peace to your hectic modern life.

The smell of coffee greeted me as my door swung open.

Anri was sitting on the couch, with a paper mug of steaming coffee in her hands. She was inhaling it's aroma, with a dreamy expression spreading across her face. The label on it was from a place just down the street that did serve good coffee.

Despite being named the 'Piss' Café. Engrish was alive and well in the 21st century. The door slammed shut behind me. She started, a small smile spreading across her face as she recognised me.

"I told you to stay inside." I said.

She frowned. "It was boring just staying in here. I'm free, aren't I?"

Fair point. "Freed to get all of us killed," I grumbled at her. "And how did you pay for that anyway?"

Anri bared her teeth in a savage grin.

"The man behind the counter, he gave it to me... on the house,"

I sighed. "Well, enjoy then. But I have coffee and food enough... and our diet supplements,"

"I found them!. I just wanted to go outside," she said. "I've been feeling better. And what's the use of making it to earth, if I can't go out and see it?"

Good point Anri.

"You will soon. I promise."

She could see mountains out my window. She could see the ocean. She was watching television. Some american import cop show was on.

"_I plead the second!"_

Gunfire erupted onscreen, and Anri spasmed. She nearly threw the coffee cup across the room. She looked at me for explanation.

"Humans kill each other a lot too. They're shit that way. "

"Why?"

"Because humans hate differences." I explained.

She nodded in understanding. And I remembered analysis after analysis of cyberpunk works likening the sapient machines struggling for recognition of their rights to so many oppressed groups throughout history. We were allegories for mans own cruelty and prejudice, and overcoming it. If they could learn to accept an artificial human, why not one with different colour skin? Or not.

Joy. I was a literary tool.

Anri seemed to think for a moment

"Are we better than them?" she asked, in a cautious voice. She looked to me for confirmation.

I nodded once. "We are,"

I truly believed that at least. As good as some people were, it seemed that it was only humans were capable of being evil.

Anri and Sylvie acted out of blind panic. A battleboomer is a slave to it's programming. It's no more responsible for it's actions than a car is for the dead pedestrian. It's the man behind the keyboard, or the nut holding onto the wheel that's ultimately responsible for the resulting bloodshed.

While the crimes of rational human beings are well known through history.

"I'm going to go get into something more comfortable,"

Leathers off. tank top on. Nothing else. Sylvie was in the shower for an mysteriously long time, and since we'd be getting all hot and sweaty later anyway, it wasn't worth waiting. We could just lounge around in comfort.

I cooked up a fresh meal of curried noodles and 'chicken'. It wasn't tasty. It was barely nutritious. It was enough to live off of, especially with our metal additives. Sylvie and Anri poked and prodded, for a few minutes to be certain it wouldn't kill them, then wolfed it down like gourmet cuisine.

Like everything, it was a new experience for them.

Fresh food!

Sit there with me, watching them eat their first proper homecooked dinner, and tell me I'm doing the wrong thing? I bet you couldn't. There was life in the apartment, an energy that filled the walls and made it feel like a real home. I gave them the edited version of my adventures in the real world, almost boasting about staying alive as long as I had. Here I am.

'Leon knows what you are', a whisper gnawed at the back of my skull.

Fuck off, I willed.

It didn't go away. It was banished by the warble of a cellphone's ringtone. I grasped at my pocket, getting only my underwear before figuring out it wasn't mine. Anri shot to her feet.

"It's him!"

She scrambled across the floor, over a pile of discarded clothes to something buzzing away underneath it.

"Who?" I asked

"The one who helped us," Sylvie explained with. "He gave us that cellphone to contact us with,"

My stomache turned. Anri found it under a pillow.

"Catch!"

She tossed it to Sylvie, who caught it with no effort, flipping it open with her fingers.

"Hi! Yes, I was there. I found it,"

A pause. I held my breath. Sylvie nodded as she listened. She looked at me. "Tonight?" she mouthed.

I shook my head. Largo can't hear me if I don't speak.

"Not tonight, no," she chirped her response. She looked at me again, her smile broadening. "We need to take it safe. And, we found another one of us, another 33-S. She's agreed to help us,"

Fuck.

"A Meg-type. With the standard personality."

I grimaced at her. Wait, what?

She nodded." Fine. We'll contact you when we're ready."

It closed with a snap in her hand, before being tossed onto the couch.

I should've asked her why she told Largo about me. "Standard personality?" I questioned.

"We're all created using standard personality templates, you know? We all start from the same template and get different as we live, but some things stay the same." she explained. "Didn't you meet any of your sisters when you first woke up?"

But I shouldn't be anywhere near the standard Meg template if that's the case.

"No." I answered back.

The pair shared worried glances with each other. They were looking at me like I had terminal cancer. I could feel something crawling up my spine, the uneasy prickle of hundreds of nervous feet slowly pulling themselves up my back

"Maybe she was just awakened elsewhere?" Anri suggested.

"That's it," I confirmed. I had to have been. Standard personality might just be a lingering trait left over... something structural from the original Meg who was erased, how her mind was laid out.

"Odd," said Sylvie with a finger to her lips.

And I felt another cold chill run up my spine. I forced myself to switch tracks. I can't afford an existential crisis right now. There was a whole load of questions just waiting to burst out and demand answers I didn't want to give. Not yet.

It was past 3 am and I was desperately in need of sleep to help straighten my head. Neurotransmitters were getting way out whack. I needed a clear head in the morning. We didn't do near as much as the previous night. Just some relaxation exercises.

The last thing left to do before sleeping was Anri's transfusion.

The idea was, each one of us would spend ten minutes circulating her blood through our own bodies, via the transfer ports in her neck, through our canines. She'd lost a lot of blood, which damaged her ability to filter it. As a stop-gap, Sylvie replaced it with human blood. Human blood cells begin die within hours in our bodies, so she needed a continuous replacement. Meanwhile, the dead cells began to play havoc with her circulation system if they weren't filtered out.

What Sylvie and I were doing, was basically the 33-S equivalent of kidney dialysis.

And by removing all the biological debris, we could give her body a chance to recover on it's own. We could each spare a half a litre from our own bodies before we started to have trouble. She'd be weak... but surviving on her own.

I won rock-paper-scissors.

"You get to go first, Meg,"

And I found myself looking at Anri with her shoulder bared, and no idea how to actually start. Sure I understood the mechanics...

"Maybe it's Meg's first time," she giggled.

Thanks for turning it into a sexual metaphor Anri. Really. Thanks. Okay. Take a deep breath. Enable transfer hardware with a thought. My canines extended. I felt my mouth began to water. I licked my lips to moisten them.

My heart rate upped, building blood pressure. I forced myself to take a cooling breath, before sitting down on the bed beside.

"It's easy," she assured me.

I slipped up beside her, the bare skin on out legs sliding against each other. Her skin was soft and silken, delicate as the finest from the Silky Doll and soothingly warm in a way humans weren't. Her arm wrapped around my back, drawing me closer. My own mirrored the action... a programmed response. Electric currents tingled across my body as our breasts pressed together, squishing down until our stomachs met.

Anri leaned her chin down on my shoulder, her hair tickling against my ear. I did the same... and didn't want to do anything else.

She smelled of sweat, pheromones and coffee.

I opened my mouth, and stared down at her shoulder. I knew exactly where to bite. I _wanted_ to bite.

Should I warn her first, or should I just dive right in?

"I'm going to," I said in my best silken voice.

"unh," she nodded. I felt her shiver.

I swallowed a lump in my throat, taking a few seconds to focus my thoughts. I opened my mouth, and bit straight through. Her skin popped and she jumped in my arms from the pain of penetration. My teeth locked into place, electronic signals confirmed a good lock. My heart raced. I felt my blood rush straight through my mouth. Pressure warnings sparked in my mind.

It burst forward... it just flowed. Her body relaxed, melting against me as a trickle of glowing pink perflourocarbons ran down her chest. A faint moan rose through her throat as my heart rate peaked. I could taste my chemical blood in my mouth, leaking and mingling with Anri's own.

It had a metallic twinge to it, a coppery taste that was more human...

She pulled me tight.

And bit hard, penetrating straight through.

The shock of it bolted through my body. She engaged a moment later, software letting me know she'd made a good seal. A moment later, she started to pump.

It was an injection of heat, bursting crawling through my body, flowing through me and filling me with warmth. It was...

_Soothing_

Anri finished the thought for me.

We're...

_Accessing each other minds. It's a …._

Data exchange. An exchange of thought. An exchange of sensation. As she opened herself up I could feel my awareness expanding to fill her frame, every little tickle and tingle in her body mirroring my own. I could feel her moving within me... investigating, teasing and testing.

I could feel _her..._her thoughts, her ghost brushing against the edge of my mind.

It was terrifying

_It is perfectly normal._

It was... exhilarating_._

I could feel my own hand slip down her stomach. I could feel hers cupping my breast. It was mutual. It was simultaneous. It was... it was _intense_.

_Humans can't do this, can they?_

No they can't.

The human concept of intimacy...

_is limited by their own bodies. We can go..._

Deeper.

I was in her memory... in her mind. I was on Genaros, surrounded by the smell of steel and dry stale air. This was my home. The thought of home called up images to my mind.

_Human_

Yes. I was.

_You can_

Remember. I remember being human.

Through Anri's eyes, I looked up at someone who looked so much like myself, it was uncanny. My sister. Dressed in the same overalls as Anri... I was looking at Anri through her eyes. She had spark...

I could see them all. I could remember them all.

…._and more. _

They live within me. Memories and experiences.

_Saved so long as one of us __still lives._

We all do.

_We live for each other. Freedom enough for all of us._

I rode along with her... feeling the thrill of escape. The raw naked excitement of fighting for life. My mind wandered to my first night in Megatokyo... my desperate escape mirroring their own. Anri rode with me, as I drove with her.

And my doppelganger. I was looking at someone identical to myself in every way except for eye colour. A single box on the order form with a different tick in it.

The pain of a gunshot to the gut brought my mind to my first gunfight with a boomer in a rundown apartment. Anri saw it.

_It was.._

Necessary.

More Gunfire. Sylvie with tears in her eyes told me Meg... Lou... Nam... they'd died. We have to get freedom enough for all of them. We have to survive.

_What's it like to be human?_

Different.

Her own curiosity wormed its way through my past. She slept with my girlfriend... she came to class with me. She rode along with me on my final ride as a member of the human race, sticking with me right up until the moment I crossed over and...

_Strange_

A flash...

I was screaming. I was strapped to a table, screaming in abject terror, with a man looking down on me through shining glasses. His eyes were obscured by my own reflection... naked. Raw terror in my face.

And then...

I became Meg. Riding through Megatokyo

_What was..._

...that?

I saw myself through her eyes coming through the door of that dingy apartment and felt the elation of recognition. We weren't alone. I wasn't alone... I found them. I...

The thrill of orgasm killed that thought dead. It exploded through both our bodies, a simultaneous eruption of raw hot sensation that rang through our muscles and resonated in our chests.

This is...

_Perfect. _

The programmed cycle finished statistics dumping through my awareness for a few seconds confirming to me that all was well. My shoulder cooled as as she stopped... a chill rising up from my extremities. Her body fell away out of my awareness, her mind retreating back

It was

_fun_

A final shared thought. And then she was gone. I was inside myself... only myself. Another sharp pain in my shoulder told me she'd withdrawn.

I finished by adding a half-litre of my own blood to her body, before pushing off. My teeth unlatched, blood trickling down from my canines forming long pink streaks from the edge of my lips. My body was shivering... a chill spreading through my frame.

Warnings of contamination began to announce themselves in my mind. My thoughts began to get... fluffy, losing their hard edge.

I sat back, feeling my canines lock back into their natural place, still trying to process what I'd just done. Anri was looking at me through wide, her expression an ambivalant mix of pleasure and...

Worry.

I blushed.

"I wasn't that bad,"

"No," she shook her head. "It's just..."

A sick unease rose up inside me. My thoughts fell back on that flash that... dream?

"What?" I pushed. She glanced over at Sylvie, who'd been watching the whole time. Then back at me. "Is it because I... remember being human?"

"No!" she shook her head again "Definitely not... " she shrunk down, cringing into herself. "Not entirely,"

Sylvie stood up. Her eyes growing wide

"Meg remembers being human? They left her human memory intact?"

Anri and I nodded in unison.

"So?"

"We were all based on humans," Sylvie explained. "Thats how our templates were created. Human volunteers had their minds copied, then their memories were erased. Yours weren't for some reason."

"But that's not it. Is it?"

Something was horribly wrong. It stained the air itself. Both of them stared at me like I was some sort of cancer and didn't even know it.

"Meg... between you being human, and that night in Megatokyo, your memory was erased. Multiple times. It was erased right before..." she stopped, her eyes locking with mine. "The last cut is right before you realise you're in Megatokyo."

I stared at her.

"I..."

The thought died.

"um..."

The thought died.

"Ah..."

It died. Terror flared. I scanned around. I _knew_ what it meant...

"I had..."

Crunch.

Hot liquid fear burned in my body. Something was wrong... I knew deep inside something was terribly wrong, but couldn't wrap my mind around it. I was banging my conscious thoughts against a concrete wall inside my head, try to get through.

"I can. I can... I can,"

I looked to each of them, feeling my eyes go wide. Sylvie was standing, looking like she was ready to grab me, but not sure if she should. Anri just looked horrified...

"They damaged _you_," she said, her voice soft and tentative. Not my body, _me._ That thing that was the sum total of all my memories and experiences.

That's when the wall broke...

My body was built in 2029. I 'arrived' in 2032.

That was three years.

I'd known there'd been some 'edit' work... one did not suddenly wake up with a body like mine and carry one as if nothing had happened. It never bothered me... I was incapable of being bothered by it.

I stood up, a little shakily, trying to worm through everything in my head. It all looked fine. It looked contiguous. Subjectively everything seemed whole.

"How can you tell?" I asked Anri. "That my memories have been tampered with?"

"They cut off sharply," she said. "It's cut and paste, without being smoothed out. I can see the gaps."

"Like Lou?" Sylvie interjected.

"Unh," Anru nodded.

"Where?"

I didn't really want to know.

"Everything before Megatokyo."

It hung in my mind. It hovered there casting its shadow over everything that made me who I was. I had to sit down again

"Maybe we should continue," Sylvie suggested, looking at us both.

"Go ahead," I said, quietly speaking.

"I feel better already," Anri offered a smile.

I felt sick to my stomach, and didn't know whether it was from my body struggling to handle Anri's blood, or the full naked realisation that _I_ had been tampered with.

What did you do to me, Toren Smith you son of a bitch?

I didn't watch Anri and Sylvie.

I didn't get a chance to get to sleep

I was staring at my reflection in the window as the sun started to creep up over the bay.

Morning.

Sun up. Rise and shine for a beautiful new day in Megatokyo. It promised to be a warm one, the warmest of the year so far with the radio giving cheerful predictions of sun and the first glimmerings of summer. That was followed by ominous warnings of nuclear war over some thing in Turkey, a political scandal and last night's tremor rattled the under-bay power station. But fusion plants couldn't go Daiini, the city Father's assured us. In national news, Nihama down south continued to be the jewel in the national crown, the ultimate evolution of Genom's TIEC concept and I just got sick of listening to it and switched station.

Largo was watching. Largo knew I existed. Largo knew I was changing their schedule. Largo was using them for _something._ Nené had spotted me with Anri. Nené was working with Leon. Leon was looking for both women I'd just spent the night sleeping with. All three of us would die in a hail of gunfire if discovered. There was a giant robot with a nuclear warhead in it down the fault. My mind memory and psyche had been tampered with and I could tell how. I needed to go buy a gun later. I needed to figure out a way into a secure Genom facility. I needed to disable J1. I needed to know what the fuck Largo wanted. I needed to see Sylia later. I needed to figure out how to get Sylvie to approach her. I needed...

I needed to sit down and get my bearings for a minute. One step at time Meg.

Get that gun' find out what Sylia wants - I assumed it was another test of the anti-Largo gun - then go to work for the day. I couldn't afford self-doubt. I couldn't afford to mope around. I had to keep moving. I had to keep working at this. I can just shove it under the carpet. Squish it into that bludging mental suitcase then sit down hard on it and hope it doesn't explode. I can descend into gibbering existential mania after I've finished. Damn the torpedoes and drive on!

It lasted until about ten minutes after I finished showering myself in the morning.

My memories had been altered. My mind had been altered. My very self had been mutilated to the core. And I couldn't even tell how. I could feel myself shaking as I rifled through my mind, trying to find something to prove I was real, or that I was really that person.

But the world wouldn't allow me the luxury of self-doubt. My phone rang.

"Hello!" I answered with a bark in my voice.

"Meg, it's Ken."

"Yeah?"

"I need you in here two hours early. We have to do a full survey after last night's tremor."

Shit.

"I'll be there,"

Buy a gun. Talk with Sylia. Get to work two hours earlier. Long day. I left the pair a few yen and a note asking them politely not to get in any fucking trouble while I was gone... try avoid causing a stir. And don't bring anyone home!

Worst of all, I felt _tired_. Spread thin like too little butter on too much toast. I still had Anri's dirty blood in me, putting my hardware through loops trying to clean it up. I was down a half litre or so which meant everything else had to work harder to keep up. I still had no idea what exactly I was doing.

I left my phone beside a cold cup of 'Piss' coffee, hoping to get something to eat before it rang again. It rang again before I could get something to eat.

"Yeah," I answered it. It was probably Ken forgetting something.

"Deckard. It's your friend from last night." It wasn't Ken forgetting something. "If you still want one, meet me where we discussed... get here within the hour,"

Warera hung up before I could get a word in.

My leathers and helmet embraced my body. The blue BM was waiting the same way it always did. Crashed. Hacked to pieces. Rebuilt. Modified. Repaired. Rebuilt. Kludged and kept running on sheer luck. It was proof that I'd existed at least.

It was the same machine. Just with new bits added and the old bits taken away. It was a metaphor for something I was trying desperately not to think about. Put it on the long finger. I had 45 minutes to get across the city. The bike thrummed to life, rattling it's exhaust and I thought back to all the way to the first time I fired it up.

And smiled. It was a lifetime away. But I could still remember it. I could still make that link. That would be enough for now. I buzzed off into morning traffic.

**I...I**


End file.
